Love Letters from Yokosuka
by HG Rising
Summary: AU. Futurefic. A story in which they find each other again and again, even when they don't know they're looking for each other. Veronica tosses her past into the ocean, not knowing what would come of it.
1. Chapter 1

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

A/N: Hey, back again. Delving into a multichapter fic with two weeks left to go of my break probably isn't a good idea—and yet... Blah. Well, this is going to be short, hopefully… mercifully? The title is borrowed from a Nujabes song: Letters from Yokosuka just because I like it. ^^. This fic is a post season three fic (like pooooost post, years past post) and not movie-compatible, making it effectively AU. Still, I hope you all enjoy it.

Chapter 1

.

It was hard to say how they were still so involved in each other's lives. Though, she supposed, he kind of forced her hand when he beat up someone linked to the Russian mafia in her honor. After a display like that, it was hard not to give the guy a few allowances regarding past indiscretions—ones that should never ever _ever_ be mentioned in front of her ever again without her initiating the conversation if anyone knew what was good for them.

Which is how she found herself giving him some allowances in his hotel bed instead of trying to explain to Piz how she and Logan were over for good immediately after going to the voting booths to vote for her father. After that, unsurprisingly, things weren't happily ever after for them.

The same issues kept coming back up over and over again. The most pivotal one was trust. However, that didn't stop them from falling back into one another's arms—or if a bed was available, that.

It was a cycle: fall apart, break up, come together, bliss, eggshells, and repeat. It was routine, it was comfortable, it was them.

And, God have mercy on the people they dragged into their twisted mating ritual. Wallace put it best—as well as most bluntly—when he first saw Veronica's nice guy _du jour_ and told him, "Do yourself a favor and just hit the ground whenever Logan's around."

Of course, the guy didn't listen. And, of course, Wallace was right.

After a somewhat heated argument he had with Veronica—over nice guy defending himself when Logan punched him after seeing nice guy with his female coworker and thinking he was cheating on Veronica—, he dropped by her house to apologize for something he wasn't sure he needed to even apologize for only to see Veronica and Logan furiously trying to figure who could get the other's clothes off faster through the window.

For those who dislike suspense or loose ends or maybe just liked to torture themselves like the nice guy apparently did, neither won; they hadn't made it past stripping off the essentials. Because, why waste time?

Although, that wasn't quite fair to Logan or the sugary, sweet hearted girls he habitually had chasing after him.

Were Wallace and Logan closer, he would've had a few choice words to give to those girls, too, such as, "He is not your man. Keep on walking. Run, if you can."

And, so it went on. After Hearst, after graduate school and FBI training, after travelling, after moving out of state, across the country, around the world. During the moments of life in between the general vagueness, they found each other, accidental and sometimes not, falling back into old habits and old ways, the cycle sometimes prolonged or shortened in some parts but never broken.

More often than not, they found each other in their seedy hometown of Neptune because, really, no matter how bad things got, it was home. And, you always came back to home.

.

In her corner office at Kane Software, Cindy 'Mac' Mackenzie's private line rang. It was an unknown number, naturally. Standing up to close the door and pull the blinds to the glass panels that separated her from the rest of the ilk, Mac eagerly picked up the phone. It hadn't been too long since Veronica talked to her, but the last time she did, she mentioned there being some important news that she couldn't tell Mac about until she was sure.

"Hello?" She said into the phone receiver. "Bond?"

"Hey, Q. It's been a while."

"Let's not talk shop, Veronica. I need details! What was the big news?" Veronica just turned her into such a girl sometimes.

There was silence coming from the other line, and Mac was prepared to fly to Veronica's apartment in Virginia and wait for her there if it meant getting an immediate answer.

Impatiently, she prompted, "Veronica!"

"I know! I know. I'm still here. I was just thinking about how to tell you…"

"How about using your words?"

"Bossy… Mmm," she took a moment to chew on her lip before beginning, "Remember when you saw me a few months ago, and we thought I got the stomach flu from that Ethiopian takeout place you forced me into trying in LA?"

"Uh, yeah? What, did the bug grow up into a butterfly?" She joked.

"Don't be silly," Veronica said, trying to imitate Mac's lighthearted tone. "Caterpillars are insects."

"Then what?" Mac asked, a little concerned by her friend's obviously nervous behavior. Veronica had been trained to mask her emotions during her employment at the FBI, so if she wanted to hide something. She could. But, she didn't now, which meant… "Veronica?"

"So, funny story. It was actually a parasite. Not a bug… or insect like we thought," she cleared her throat.

Mac gripped the phone in her hand, knuckles white. Whispering, in a constricted voice, she asked, "What?"

"Not a serious one or life threatening," she followed up quickly, not wanting to give Mac a heart attack. "Well, the doctors said I'd be fine and it'd be fine anyway. I guess with my luck, something might go wrong, but I don't know. My dad said he'd be there with me to make sure, and I'm planning to take some time off and go back home to visit so that he would definitely be there. I don't want to be alone, you know? Which means, oh, I can see you and Wallace and the old gang, and I guess that's redundant because the old gang is just you and Wallace pretty much, other unmentionables notwithstanding. I just really feel—"

"Veronica! Stop rambling," Mac choked out. "You're killing me here. What kind of parasite is it? What's going on?"

Inhaling deeply, Veronica prefaced, "Now, it's nothing too serious. Or bad. Some people actually celebrate these things. I wouldn't. I _didn't. _But, that's probably because I totally didn't plan this. And, this is so not how I pictured things. Still, don't freak out, Mac."

"Too late for that, don't you think?"

"Ha. Well… it's like this. That parasite has been growing inside me for a few months now, and in a few more months, my doctor said I'll be able to dress it up and take it out to meet other little parasites."

"Veronica, please," she begged. "No riddles."

"Okay…" Taking another deep breath, Veronica blurted, "Everyone who's pregnant raise their hands!"

Mac practically fell off her chair, dropping her phone, and consequently bumping her head on her desk when she bent down to pick it up.

"Hello? Still there, Mac?"

"Yeah," she breathed out. "Just processing."

"You got that I would have to raise my hand, right?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Would this have worked better over Skype?"

"I don't think this would've worked better over anything short of… actually no, I can't think of anything, really. How did this happen?"

"Oh, you know, insert tab A into slot B type mechanics. It was fun, if that helps. Probably not comforting for you, though. My dad wasn't amused."

"Do you know whose it is?" She whispered cautiously.

"Oh yeah," Veronica said, laughing nervously.

"Logan?"

"Could be worse."

"Have you told him?"

"That would be the worst."

"But necessary."

"I know. I just haven't quite worked up the nerve yet. The last time I saw _him_ was when he happened to be in my area and, well, he was really in my area, and I ended up with the parasite."

"How long have you known?"

"Oh, I'd say a week or so, give or take… two months?"

"Veronica!"

"I _know_. He'll know when I feel like he should. You're worse than my dad."

"Good, your dad knows. So at least one responsible adult knows."

"I just—I can't—_he _can't know, alright? Not yet."

"Why not? He's probably been hoping to knock you up since you finally told him you loved him that one time."

"Shh! I told you, we're… keeping things casual."

"And I suppose he went to Virginia for the great surfing?"

"We have a beach."

Mac rolled her eyes, knowing Veronica would _feel_ at the other end of the line. "Tell him, Veronica. He deserves to know. He'd probably be very happy knowing."

"But what if he isn't? What if he doesn't want anything to do with me? Or us? Or it, her, him, I don't know, I can't find out yet."

Ah, there lies the crux of the situation. Veronica's old friend, insecurity, was back. Or, did it even leave? As one of Veronica's oldest and closest friend—Wallace can blow smoke all he wanted, it was true—, Mac still wasn't sure Veronica ever truly let someone in other than her father. Logan was the closest of them all, and that wasn't even enough to keep their many attempted relationships afloat.

"He will be, and he will. All of you," she said as assuredly as she could, trying to pass on her confidence in Logan to Veronica.

"I—I gotta go, Mac. Talk to you later."

"I'll be eagerly awaiting our next chat, Bond. But know this. This conversation's not over."

.

On the other side of the world, Logan tried his best to communicate with the locals using his rough Vietnamese. Thank goodness some of them had a fairly good grasp of the English language and were adequate enough charades players. Otherwise, he'd have had a frustratingly tough time with his philanthropy. Yes, philanthropy. Because when you have a lot of money that you didn't earn but came from someone else who didn't deserve it, you tended to want to spend it towards helping others.

Still, Logan felt it wasn't enough to just give his money away. That idea of throwing money at a problem to solve it just reeked of his father's mentality. Though, that didn't stop him from hosting dinner parties and such to milk his fellow rich for their money as well.

With the help of his lawyers and Mac, Logan found a humanitarian group which he spent his money and a lot of his time on.

He was particularly fond of this group because it focused on the children. Preserving childhood innocence and allowing kids to be kids but still preparing them for the real world were his main goals when he went on trips to the sites in Vietnam. Of course, that may have been something to do with how his own childhood was lacking to the point of nonexistence. Still, that was neither here nor there. He was there for the children, not to work out his inner demons. Working out—or rather, quieting the bastards—was more of a side benefit.

The other volunteers and associates were friends, he could even call some close friends, but there were things he never talked about. His past being one of them. His private life being the other.

On this particular trip, they were building one of many schoolhouses for the underprivileged children—of which there were many who didn't have access to a completely free education—in an impoverished neighborhood of southern Vietnam. The schoolhouse they were building would employ teachers paid through private funding, be stocked with all the necessities, and provide school supplies for the children who attended. He was working towards making the schoolhouse teach children up to at least sixteen years old, but he'd settle for kindergarten up to grade six for now. Baby steps.

"_Logan! Get out of the way!_"

Logan stopped himself and turned around to face the source of the voice, trying to understand what he was being told. He was still getting the hang out the language itself, and the regional accent of the local volunteers who helped them build the schoolhouse was making it somewhat harder to understand. Still, he caught his name among what he was sure was an order. But what? He also saw the man who called out to him rush towards him. Too late.

A hastily added wooden beam had gotten loose and chose Logan as its victim. And, it all went crashing down.

.

Veronica had been in Neptune for a fair amount of time. She expected Logan to pop up any time now. He usually did. Somehow, they'd just always end up seeing each other, either as a result of meddlesome friends or fate. At any rate, it happened, and Veronica was grateful for it.

He didn't this time, though. Not when she really wanted him to anyway.

"It's time," she said to herself suddenly, feeling an uncomfortable wetness between her legs. She had been sitting in her father's living room, under house arrest nearing so close to her due date; her father hadn't wanted to take any chances.

Sitting there, she herself had announced it, but she didn't quite believe it. Taking a moment to herself, she was prompted by a jolt of pain in her abdomen that she didn't have that moment. She needed to move now. Except, she couldn't move alone.

Her father, she had to call her father. And Mac. She was close enough to drive down. Oh, Wallace! He was even closer. But, he'd probably still be teaching. Still, he'd probably kill her if she didn't tell him anyway.

Mentally compiling a list of things to do, Veronica checked them off one by one after she completed them, working through the pain and waiting for her loved ones to come to her. All of them, she knew, would be by her side eventually. Save for one. Logan, Logan, Logan, her heart pounded as she breathed deeply in and out to stabilize herself.

Her father's swift appearance rescued her from having to think for herself as he ushered her to her rented SUV, lead foot on the gas pedal, running through the red lights.

A few trying hours in, they almost made it the entire way through without Veronica making noises other than pained grunts until Veronica realized, with her legs flat on the hospital bed and spread wide to deliver _their_ baby, she really wanted him there.

Squeezing her father's hand even harder, she managed, "Call him, please."

"Of course, but I need some time to find his number. Just hold on if you can," Mac added with wide eyes. She was not ready for the reality that was a baby to come out of her best friend yet. It couldn't be true. They were too young. Too inexperienced. Too unprepared. Sometimes, sitting at her desk, doing things she shouldn't be doing for Veronica, she still felt like they were seventeen, not twenty eight.

Though, Keith would have preferred otherwise, there was no question as to whom he was. No one, except for the hospital professionals, wondered who he was, if they even did considering the job they were currently in the middle of doing. Like the understanding father he was, he squeezed back, casually pulling out his phone and handing it to Mac.

"He's listed under 'Jack.'" At Mac's perplexed expression, he muttered under his breath, "Last name, 'Ass.'"

.

Eyes closed, the tears didn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop. It was the same in the end, and she really wished he were here right now.

"Did he pick up?" She asked in a small voice. She didn't even recognize it. Veronica was weak; more than that, she looked weak, something she hated and would rather die than appear as such. She found herself not caring, at the moment.

"No," Mac admitted. "The line's dead."

Veronica wailed harder at her words, pressing her palms against her eyes.

Her father stood mostly still by her side, not unaffected by his daughter's pain or what had happened. Just one arm of his was moving, rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles on her back while Wallace—who had arrived with a teddy bear and balloons that were hastily tossed out—held her other side.

Realizing the word she had just said, Mac backtracked quickly, losing control of her own motions. She tried hard to stay strong for her friend, she really did, but up until a moment ago, she was denying its existence and now… "I mean, out of service. Sorry! God! I am so sorry, Veronica."

She threw herself at the foot of Veronica's bed, begging forgiveness for so much.

.

A/N: At the risk of divulging too much information… just curious, but how many of you guys are in California? If you are, and you think you've spotted me and want to chat, in your best impression of Clemmons (or not), just say, "I was wondering if I could have a word?" To which, I'll respond, "Anthropomorphic. All yours, big guy." And, then we go on our separate ways, I guess haha. Or, we could really chat. Always fun to meet fellow _Veronica Mars_ fans, my friends are not nearly as into it as they should be. /pout.

So, to bring you all up to speed, it's approximately nine years after season three. Veronica and her peers are all about twenty eight or so. Veronica's working at the FBI, currently on leave. Wallace is a civil engineer who teaches at Hearst. Mac is Kane Software's Head of Internal Security. Yes, like how they were described in _King of Mars_' epilogue haha. Logan, however, is currently just a philanthropist. Keith is not the sheriff; he's a PI.

Fun fact: This was supposed to be a short oneshot. Oh, boy, was I mistaken. Silly, _silly_ me. Still, definitely not going to be as long as _King of Mars_. (I will force it not to be that long because I just can't haha. Not now.) And, hopefully, it'll be finished before I start school again. ^^


	2. Chapter 2

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

Chapter 2

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The day he woke up in the hospital, he found out he'd been out for a week. But, really, that was just another drop in the bucket compared to the lifetime of memories devoid of people and places he once knew. Explaining where he was became that much harder.

The people he was apparently familiar with clamored to help him in the first few days, but they had little to offer. His name was Logan Stone. He was a volunteer from the US. He was in Vietnam to help build schoolhouses for underprivileged children. The person he was before the accident didn't like to share too much, and he had to wonder why.

When he was discharged from the hospital, he'd been given back his personal items. He opted to inspect them privately; his past self would probably thank him if anything.

Dinh, a 'friend' who insisted that he was Logan's right hand man and had been personally appointed by Logan to be the project director whenever Logan wasn't there, offered to drive him back to wherever home was for him. Along the way, Dinh chatted in his rough English, which Logan had apparently been helping him improve with in exchange for practice with his Vietnamese, trying to somehow jog Logan's memory by pointing out the places they used to visit and things they did. The doctors explained that these things might help, but nothing was certain.

After being dropped off in the house that he had been assured he was sharing with a host family before the accident and convincing the family he wanted to be alone, Logan closed the door and spread the items across the cot he assumed he slept in.

There was little he had with him. Dinh told him he had a phone, too, and they wanted to use it to see his contacts list to tell his friends or family in the US, but the phone wasn't on him, nor was it at the site. So, they had no one to call. It probably fell out of his pocket during the commotion. Unfortunately, reporting lost items wasn't too common a practice in their area, so they probably wouldn't find it anytime soon.

Diving in, he picked up the set of keys first. One most likely opened the door to the house he was in. The next, his own room. One was fairly larger than the rest, like it belonged to some sort of vehicle, and he remembered Dinh told him he rode a motorcycle when he wanted to get to further places. Other times, Dinh said he rode a bike, like to the construction site; the smaller key was probably for a bike lock.

He stopped at the last key, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, trying to understand what it was. He turned it over in his hand, feeling its ridges but nothing more. Judging by the bow that was tied through it, it had to have been important. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to figure out what it opened unless he started trying it out everywhere he went. Probably not a good idea when he was trying to convince everyone that he was fine after his visit to the hospital. Still, the bow in and of itself was curious. It was black, woven into a braid. At its center were three small chain links. The clasps at the ends of the bows told him that the bow was repurposed from a necklace. His? He hoped not; it was rather dainty and feminine looking, and the circumference seemed small, too small for him.

Dropping the keys, he picked up the brown, leather wallet, plain and simple. His wallet contained some Vietnamese currency, a few business cards—his, advertising his position as a chairperson to the Hand in Hand Organization—, other business cards, and a few pictures. The first was of him when he was younger. He was dressed up, as were the three other people. Who was he to these people? Who were they to him?

In the next picture, he was a few years older. Graduation from a college he didn't remember attending. The blonde from the previous picture stood posing next to him, but the other two people were gone. Perhaps they were the ones taking the picture were off elsewhere. Or, perhaps they simply weren't there. Either due to distance, other commitments, or a plethora of other reasons he'd probably never know. At least he looked happy. He couldn't have been a bad person if he could smile that happily. Then again, he couldn't have been a bad person if he was doing all the things he was told he did.

The last thing he had with him was what seemed like a grocery list. He perused it, trying to get a feel of what he used to like and promising to try everything on the list to see if he still liked them. Folding the scrap of paper into his wallet, he left it on the stand next to his cot.

Going through his closet, he found nothing more than clothes. No hidden compartments, no diary that would have both been really helpful and somewhat disturbing to discover.

The drawers of the nightstand were helpful in that it contained his passport, license, credit cards, some more money and a bankbook. Through his passport and license, he discovered where he lived. Through the others, he discovered how rich he was. No wonder he could afford to spend his time volunteering. How he was rich, was another thing that eluded him.

He also discovered that he'd been lying to a lot of people. He was not Logan _Stone_ as they had told him—rather, that he had told them—; he was Logan _Echolls_. His past self was just full of surprises. Or, problems. Why bother hiding who he was when who he was appeared to be a good guy. What skeletons were in his closet? And, did it still exist if he didn't remember?

Logan considered it for a long and hard minute until it hurt and left it for another day.

He'd have to test out the other keys another day as well; he was afraid the family would pester him with their concern. Though, he was more bothered by the fact that he could understand them for the most part rather than that they wanted to help him.

Sitting back in his cot, he noticed his room wasn't very lived in. Dinh had mentioned that he split his time between his volunteer work and the US. Though, no matter how Dinh asked or how often, Logan had apparently not told much about his life in the US other than that he often went back to solicit donations from people he networked with—which explained the business cards somewhat.

.

He dealt with things one day at a time after that, returning to his work and allowing Dinh to show him the ropes, surprised that the man was being so friendly to him. He felt like a stranger, an imposter. Worst, he felt like he was a disappointment. Too many times did they try to tell him that he loved something only to get a blank stare in response. Or, his reaction wasn't what they were hoping, and there were awkward moments that followed while they all reminded themselves that he was not the same.

There were good times in between those bad times, though. Some days, he'd remember something all on his own, or they'd find that he liked something that he used to in the same way that he used to. But, honestly, he spent half his time not trying not to get frustrated at himself for failing to live up to everyone's expectations for who he was supposed to be.

He sometimes stayed up at night, constructing a mental venn diagram. His old self, his current self, and what seemed to be inconsequential, coincidental overlapping details.

He found it easier to interact with the children. When Dinh brought him around to the temporary schoolhouse that he spent time at, the children presented him with get well cards, hugs, and no expectations, a more than welcoming sentiment. Well, there were expectations of participation in their playtime and entertainment, but Logan was confident he held his own fairly well. So, he spent most of his time with them.

But, he couldn't spend all his time there. The adults demanded his attention towards the bigger project and social interactions. And, to avoid lashing out at the people who meant well, he started waiting for cues as to how he was supposed to act, how _Logan_ was supposed to act.

Months later, Logan had settled into his role as _Logan_. Day by day, it felt less like acting, but he couldn't help but feel like he was still missing a big part of himself. Eventually, the time came when he was supposed to go back to the US to do whatever it was he usually did. Dinh told him that he usually left at the end of February every year. He was actually looking forward to finding out about the other half of his life.

He frowned, realizing that he might have to go through the frustrations of others knowing more about him than he knew about himself, but it was a necessary evil, he figured. And, the sooner he got over it, the sooner he could put the entire thing behind him.

His friends sent him off at the airport, lining up behind the security ropes and all wishing him luck with recovering the rest of his memories. Before he left, Dinh apologized for the way everyone acted, including him, when Logan was out of the hospital. He explained that Logan had been a big part of their lives in the past few years and wished him well. He also hoped that Logan would continue his hands on volunteer work and would miss him.

Sitting on the plane, Logan thought the same.

.

When his plane landed, no one was there to see him, and it was a stark contrast to the sending off he had. It made him ache for the people he had gotten to know again for the second time. He brushed it off and hailed a cab, taking it all the way to the home address listed on his license.

He pulled up to a high rise building in LA. He let out a low whistle when the cabbie let him out. He sure knew how to live.

The doorman let him in and greeted him in a friendly manner, letting him know that the reception desk had mail for him.

Stepping up to the reception desk, a girl said, "Hello, Mr. Echolls. How was your trip?"

"Wonderful," he replied with what he hoped was a charming smile while thinking of the best way to ask her. "You wouldn't happen to have my house key, would you? I looked all over and couldn't find it."

The girl, Sarah according to her nametag, laughed. "I do. You always leave it with me before you go on extended trips. Don't you remember?"

He didn't allow the frown to show on his face, "Must've lost my head there. It's been a long plane ride."

"Of course, sir. If there's anything I can do to make things easier for you, just give me a call." Her smile was polite, but the hand that lingered on his as she passed him his keys was anything but.

"Thanks," he said, keeping the smile fixed to his face and ignoring the pout that overcame hers. He wondered if they'd had a relationship before or if she'd been a one night stand as he stepped into the elevator.

The attendant in the elevator mercifully knew who he was and he gave him a genuinely thankful smile when he took Logan's key and started the elevator, not questioning his odd behavior.

The following days were more of the same, save for the short venture he took to acquire a new phone, inputting Dinh's number and the people that Dinh said were important to the organization. Any more, he'd have to figure out himself.

For the most part, he went through the motions like nothing was out of the ordinary when he was out in public. He didn't feel like he should confide in anyone that he lost his memories. People were harder to trust when he remembered how private he was and the fake name he used overseas. In his house, he searched for more clues or hints to the life he led.

The more he looked, the lonelier he realized he was.

Even his room in Vietnam was comfier than here. Rather, it was homier. Here, the interior design was impeccably done but lacking the touch of anyone who cared. Fortunately for him, his bedroom was marginally better. Nothing was on display, but within the nightstand next to his bed, he found a few mementos. A men's watch he assumed was his. A worn book. And, a used box of condoms. Apparently, he wasn't lonely all the time.

In the corner of his closet, filled with designer clothes that he had feeling he'd have to get used to since he packed light, was a box markd, _Do Not Open_. Under that, it said, (_that includes you, Dick, especially you_). He figured that it didn't apply to him since it was more likely than not his and wondered who Dick was. A nosy friend? Or nosy foe?

Opening the small box, he was almost floored with an overwhelming shock of sentiment. Categorized sentiment and nostalgia.

He started with the teen years and worked his way up to the present and concluded that he was either a stalker, obsessed, an obsessed stalker, or he was in love with the girl turned woman in the photos, the same girl/woman that was in his wallet. Of course, those options weren't exactly mutually exclusive, and he worried briefly about his past self's sanity.

Some other people showed up as well through the course of the photos. Here or there, they popped up alongside him and the blonde. The blonde was quite pretty. He noticed that a long time ago, but the pictures showed she aged both naturally and gracefully.

There were no names in the boxes, unfortunately. Only dates. A few notes written on the back of the pictures, too. A birthday, a holiday, an event, a note to print out a copy. Of course not, that would've made it too easy for him.

Resolving to not unhealthily obsess over the woman like he apparently used to do, Logan called Dinh and talked to him for a little. They decided that he should distance himself from his old life for a little if he didn't like what he saw or wasn't ready to face it. So, he booked a plane to Mexico, remembering not to leave his keys with Sarah again for fear of what she might do if she were tempted enough.

Waiting by himself, he noted that he was alone at the airport again. Was there ever anyone there who saw him off?

.

A/N: A short chapter about Logan to tide you over because I have a lot more obligations during the weekend than weekdays for some reason. Still, a lot of explanation and time covered in this chapter. Poor Lolo. Love it, hate it, confused? Let me know!

Fun fact: This story isn't really planned out very well. I should probably do that…


	3. Chapter 3

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

Chapter 3

.

Logan's trip to Mexico turned into an extended stay as he made his way from the airport in Colima to a seaside village near Rosarito.

The locals initially regarded him as they did all tourists who inevitably came upon their small village, with subtle distaste as they hoped he'd find his way back to Rosarito soon and leave them be.

However, as he had rented a room in one of the few apartment complexes there, there was little chance of that happening. And, he eventually became tolerated as he went about, trying to learn from them and being friendly. At the very least, he wasn't being insulted behind his back when they thought he wouldn't understand them. And, in truth, sometimes he didn't in the beginning, but swear words and insults were easier to pick out than the unfamiliar words from their regional dialect.

Through his travels, he met places as pretty as Tarrina, some even prettier. Under the pen name, Logan Stone, he'd even written about some of them, submitting them to various travel guides and magazines, hoping to spread the knowledge of their beauty. But, it was the people of Tarrina that made him feel like he should stay, at least for a little while longer.

Though frosty at first, he found them interesting and their stories captivating as he talked to them more and more, finding things about them that he'd never suspect.

There was a woman who grew up there, born on the coast of Tarrina, so close to Rosarito. She lived quite a long life. She watched as the tall buildings came up in Rosarito and was witness to the falling trees. She gave birth to twelve children altogether. But, her children left her, one by one, either to go to the city that swallowed up the trees or through death. She had been living with her second husband—her first husband had been killed in the construction of one of the resorts at Rosarito since work was sparse in their own village—until he too passed away just the year before, leaving only her.

When he asked her why she didn't go live with one of her children to make it easier for herself, she told him, Tarrina was her home, and though he personally didn't quite feel that way about any particular place, he understood. It was home.

After getting her permission, hers was the first story he submitted to more mainstream publications, wanting to get her story out there and eventually getting it featured in _Reader's Digest_.

And, when he wasn't too busy listening to stories from the other villagers, Logan was on the waves, sometimes surfing—which he found he liked a lot, a comforting development since he assumed he used to like it according to the surfing paraphernalia he remembered being in his LA apartment—and sometimes just sitting on his surfboard and feeling the waves beneath him.

More often than not, he found his thoughts straying to the unknown blonde. This irked him more than it should have on some days because, those days, she'd appear not entirely uninvited in his dreams. Her age varied, as did their levels of intimacy within them. He would occasionally find that he had to relieve himself of his problem some mornings after a particularly realistic dream because they really did feel like they could have been memories rather than wishful thinking. Still, he was uncertain.

It was always more reasonable to believe that he subconsciously fabricated them to trick himself into thinking that he remembered something.

Out there on the water, he sometimes entertained the idea that she was an old lover, now dead. Their pictures certainly showed that they were close, so the part about them being lovers had to be true.

But if not dead, then where was she now? Where was she when he was forced to navigate the unknown of his past life by himself. Towards the end of the day, when he was close to heading back to shore, he eventually rationalized that she was merely out of his life—most likely, they had a bad breakup—, and his past self missed her, harbored intense feelings for her.

His current self, on the other hand, wasn't sure how to feel. Whenever he thought of her, it made him ache. And, he found it extremely troubling, feeling things for someone whom he never really knew but had to have been a huge part of his life if the box dedicated to her were any indication.

Paddling back in, he usually found himself with less incentive to leave Mexico. There in Mexico, there was no mysterious woman or mysterious anyone. No one there knew the him from before, so they had no expectations. There, he had a new start, and he was already endearing himself to the villagers, or he liked to think so anyway. The children were quite fond of him, much like the children in the Vietnamese villages were, persuading him to play with them when the other adults usually brushed them off.

There was also little reason to return to LA. In the US, he did some light business, fielding correspondence for Hand in Hand, which Dinh had immensely helped with him coordinating now that he had no idea what he should be doing or what he used to do. And, he could just fly from Mexico to Vietnam whenever he wanted to join them again over there. Hell, after realizing he'd stay in Tarrina indefinitely, he already had been having his mail forwarded.

Nearing the end of summer, Logan ventured into the marketplace. He remembered the first time he came there, the accents too hard for him to begin to understand. Now, after being immersed in the language for months, he had vastly improved and understood most things said around him, working out words he didn't know from context clues.

The women in the stalls greeted him. The ones who were comfortable with him greeted him warmly. The others, politely. He was in the market to buy some groceries, but one of the women had called him over. Her name was Selene, and she had a daughter about twelve who always wanted Logan to help her build sandcastles.

Apparently, Sandy, her daughter, had been down by the beach and found a glass bottle and brought it to her because it looked like there were pieces of paper inside. Sandy thought it was a treasure map at first until they opened it to see. Inside, they found some papers with English writing, and she was going to throw them all away, but Sandy thought he might like them since he wrote about interesting things. She didn't know what they said, but she was sure he could figure it out.

Logan gratefully accepted them, and told her to pass along his thanks to Sandy as well, promising to help her build their biggest sandcastle yet.

Placing it in his grocery bag, he almost forgot about it until he got home to put away his groceries.

He sat at his kitchen counter, tapping the end of the bottle to force out the papers inside. When that didn't work, he resorted to breaking it, wondering how Sandy and her mother had gotten it out in the first place without having to do the same. Cleaning up the errant glass pieces, he settled in his seat at last with his prizes.

.

After finishing them, Logan pushed the papers to the side, not wanting to stain them with the moisture that leaked from his eyes. He couldn't help but feel a bleak loneliness permeating through every word, resonating within the hollow recesses of his body and soul, and filling them their tragedy.

.

Excerpt from Letter no. 1

_To my baby boy,_

_You were so beautiful, like you were sleeping. _

_I tried to keep you in my arms for as long as I could. I screamed and threatened for you, but they made me give you up. And, I hate them for it. Your granddaddy, aunt, and uncle were there for me, though. All that was missing was you._

_I named you Hunter. I hear you crying for me sometimes when I'm alone, Hunter. I'm so sorry, baby. _

_I love you._

_._

Excerpt from Letter no. 2

_To my son's father, _

_Now, neither of us will ever get to know him. _

_It's not fair._

_._

Excerpt from Letter no. 3

(Not addressed to anyone)

_Two months, three weeks, and fourteen days ago, I buried my son. His body, the coffin, the hole, the tombstone. Everything was so tiny. _

.

A/N: This may not seem as relevant now, but it will later (soon): If the time jumps and shifting perspectives seem confusing, everything will become clearer in the end, especially since I typed up the general timeline (which should definitely make things easier). But, that'll probably be posted up with the last chapter, so… there's that. I'll try my best to make things as straightforward as possible though. Just know that not everything is in chronological order when I shift between their perspectives. Thanks for your patience. I hope you've all been enjoying it still so far.

Also, oh my. These chapters are decreasing in length. Tsk, I'll have to fix that. Deciding to start writing earlier should probably help.

Fun fact: It's 2am, and I'm writing thiiiiis when I should be drawing that picture I promised to people for my oooother story. It's 3am, going on 4am.


	4. Chapter 4

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

Chapter 4

.

Veronica flew back to Virginia, her job, her house, and little else.

Following the events that transpired in that hospital room, she took two weeks off to plan the funeral—she refused to let anyone else do it—and to grieve before she compartmentalized everything as best she could.

Two weeks after that, she couldn't stand the loud emptiness of her house, and she requested a transfer to the San Diego field office on the west coast, closer to home.

While her request was placed under review, Veronica opted for desk duty rather than field duty. There, she accomplished each task with precision and accuracy, never complaining about the paperwork or other things that she used to think were menial. The repetitiveness was trying, but the monotony bored her senses into submission, dulling them and making them somewhat bearable.

Though her work maintained its excellence in the transition, in a building filled with employees whose job it was to notice minor details, Veronica's change in assignments coupled with her change in attitude screamed problem. It was her mentor who cared enough to bring it up.

"Hey, Mars, do you have a minute?"

Veronica slowly lifted her head up from the open case file in front of her and meet the eyes of Jamie Davis, her mentor.

"Of course," she nodded, closing the file and moving it to the side.

"Not here," Jamie said, gesturing for Veronica to follow her.

Nodding again, Veronica stood, putting away the files completely and locking her desk.

"Still following protocols to a T, I see."

"Just the way you taught me."

She opened the door to an empty meeting room and closed the blinds and the door behind them both. Sitting down next to each her, her mentor tilted her head in thought. "Do you mind if I picked your brain for a little bit? I'm kinda stumped on this case."

"Sure, what's up?"

"I'm having a little trouble with a witness. Her behavior makes trusting her completely a bit unwise."

"How's she been acting?" Veronica asked curiously.

"Withdrawn."

"And this is a new development?"

"That's what the people around her have been noticing. She could previously be described as sociable and very well liked."

"Alright, what else? Any other changes?"

"Yes, her coworkers have noticed she's changed her career objectives, switching from more involved assignments that would let her stand out to simple tasks, usually ones that mean she wouldn't have to go out or interact with others. Thoughts?"

"Well," Veronica started. "You're not giving me much to go on. But, if I had to, I'd say that it sounds like she's experienced something big in her life recently, something traumatic most likely. Death is usually a common factor. But, you'd know that…," she continued, trailing off. She narrowed her eyes, a spark igniting behind them. "I can't believe you."

"What?"

"You know what. What're you getting at, Jamie? It's not like you to play games."

Her mentor sighed and smiled. Veronica wouldn't have fallen for it at all if it wasn't her _specifically_ who was doing it. She warmed at the trust that the younger women had in her and was saddened that this might hurt that bond, but it had to be done. She had to realize.

"You're right, Veronica. I apologize, but I thought it necessary."

"Necessary for what?" She crossed her arms, adopting a common defensive posture.

"This," she gestured, waving her hand towards Veronica's general direction. "What's wrong, Veronica? Did something happen during your leave of absence?"

Veronica tensed, and her mentor noticed but did not call her on it.

Not wanting to fuel office gossip, Veronica took a leave of absence using her accrued vacation days long before she started showing any signs. She knew now that it was one of her best ideas yet.

"Veronica? I just want to help."

"You can't," she said succinctly.

"But I can try. You requested a transfer to a branch in California. Why? Is something wrong here? Is someone harassing you?"

Veronica gave her a look that suggested that she thought it was hilarious her mentor even considered someone being able to harass her and live to tell the tale. Or, at the very least, get away with it unscathed.

"Right… I didn't think so either. So, what _is_ going on?"

She saw the determination and concern in her mentor's eyes and knew she wasn't going to be able to talk her way out of their conversation or leave the room without a struggle, so she tried some half-truths. "I want to be closer to my father."

Jamie nodded. "And, that's it?"

Veronica sat there staring at her, and she stared back. She didn't want to give away more than she had to. "Yes."

Jamie nodded again, critically eying her. "I can see I won't get anywhere further with you today, so I won't pursue the matter. And, since this change hasn't actually affected your work, I can't exactly reprimand you either. But, you do realize you'll have to go back into the field eventually… sooner rather than later, correct?"

"I know."

"And, whatever you're hiding from me, it might blow up in your face?"

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you trained me better than that."

"Of course. Alright," she said, sighing in exasperation. "If you really do want to be closer to your father…"

"I do."

"Then, I'll push your request and speed up the processing."

"Thank you, Jamie," Veronica replied, genuinely grateful.

"I can't say I won't miss you, though."

Then, she hugged her stiffly, and Veronica hugged her back in the same stiff manner, surprised at the woman's rare display of affection. The girl was so much like her, and she grew on her like moss from the first day they met. She doubted that she knew how much she actually cared and worried about her. She really would miss her.

.

Veronica stood in the middle of her living room, which now looked like a tornado finished running through it, and balanced her phone on her shoulder as she pulled on a strip of packing tape. "What's this I hear about my little girl coming back home to her daddy?"

"Eww, no. Gross, dad. I can't take you seriously when you refer to yourself as my 'daddy.'"

"But that's what I am. And, you _are_ my little girl after all. But, really, you're moving back?"

"Yep, packing now," she grunted, struggling with the stubborn adhesive material.

"Great. Your room will be ready when you get here."

"Actually, dad," she said, pausing. "I want to be close to you guys, but not too close… The commute's better if I just lived in the city. Plus, miss the opportunity for all that fresh air? Not a chance."

"Sure, honey, I understand."

She tried not to flinch at the pity in his voice. Even from her father who had seen her accomplish and handle so much before she reached voting age, she couldn't avoid the pity. Suddenly feeling not in the mood to talk, she hastily said goodbye to her father and continued packing.

Then, she found the pictures of him and her, walked into her half-packed living room, and called professional movers to do it all instead, leaving her apartment when they came and going four blocks out of her way to get black coffee at a shop she'd never been before.

.

Unpacking was much harder and much, much longer than necessary. The movers hadn't thrown anything out, which was somewhat expected since she gave them no specific directions.

Save for the heavy pieces of furniture in her new apartment, Veronica had to put things away by herself. That meant that she'd occasionally stumble upon something that was his or reminded her of him, and she'd have to stop, consider alcohol, and succumb. Then, she remembered her mother, and went back to unpacking with noticeably less care, leaving any offending items in a box marked, _Opening this is a federal crime_, and under that, _(including you, Veronica, especially for you)_, to remind herself later when she'd inevitably wake up hung over and forgetting.

.

The unpacking process took long enough for her to miss dinner with her father and end up still hung over on her first day at the new field office in San Diego.

She should've known that her reputation would have preceded her.

Contrary to popular opinion, no one really graduated from high school. Lucky for her, she was the new kid. Fresh meat.

Still, she thought she was doing pretty well. She didn't rock the boat or break the status quo, so they left her alone. She was on desk duty until all of her paperwork was transferred anyway, and she was fine with that.

But, then, her files were sent, and she was cleared for field work and had to attend the case assignment meetings. She had tried to get the assignments that kept her behind a desk, claiming she preferred time to adjust, she had desperately wanted to get those assignments, but some dick named Seth challenged her ability, and like her namesake, she was prepared to go to war no matter the circumstances.

After that, things went downhill like quicker than a vertical drop.

She was partnered with a few others that didn't particularly register on her radar, but the chief called them all 'hotshot' anyway and they all wore ID badges, so did it matter?

The team work didn't bother her so much as the case she was incited into volunteering to work on did. Someone was going around murdering children, and she didn't make it through the first picture before she excused herself. It was far from her first murder case, but it struck a chord.

She dipped her hands under the ice cold water of the bathroom sink and drenched her face with it until she felt herself calm enough to return to work. Then, it was business as usual, and if her teammates noticed her lack of makeup or red eyes when she returned, they didn't say anything about it to her face.

Her success with furthering the case and closing in on the unsub shut them up for her anyway.

It was the getting down and dirty detail that involved them actually catching him that knocked down her icy resolve.

They arrived as a team with local law enforcement as backup.

The unsub, a middle aged white male, living with his mother and using her house to stash the children he kidnapped and _killed_, was surrounded. He was confessing, apologizing, and begging as he surrendered to them, but all she could hear was, "I did it."

_I did it. I did it. _

He did it.

With all her training, it took three of her teammates to pull her off him, but not before she had his blood under her nails.

She went back to the office to receive a vocal and lengthy reprimand and a week's suspension. She considered it a slap on the wrist, considering the damage she'd inflicted without cause. But, she was also required to be cleared by the bureau's shrink before she could work on any further cases following her suspension. Until then, she'd have to attend twice weekly meetings. And, _that _seemed cruel.

She rebelled against the decree by spending the first session entirely tightlipped, allowing the psychologist to ask questions that received no answers.

Later that day, she received an email from her chief telling her that no matter how talented she was, she wouldn't be working for them any longer if she didn't take the sessions seriously. Apparently, her dear psychologist, Miss Blake Ritter, had tattled on her because _that_ was going to help her cooperate.

By the second session, the Big B, as she referred to her in her mind, suggested that she open up more during their sessions, to which she snorted at, so she technically couldn't be reported as wholly unresponsive. Take that, B. When she asked Veronica if Veronica thought she was acting out of line by going to her chief was because of trust issues, Veronica glared at her.

During the third session, the Big B declared that she "bottled up her emotions," and that was why she snapped and why she had to be suspended. She said that she suspected Veronica had a history of "emotional evasion" and she probably wasn't emotionally available in her relationships.

She flipped her off and crossed her arms. She used both hands when she saw the Big B furiously write something in her notepad.

In her fifth unsuccessful session, the Big B said something that made Veronica think that maybe she actually was capable of thought. "This obviously isn't working for you."

Veronica's eye roll told the Big B that she agreed wholeheartedly.

And then she ruined the whole damn thing by opening her mouth again. "I took a look at your records. I have no reservation in concluding that _all this_," she gestured to the unoccupied space between her and Veronica, "stems from you losing your child. Your son, was it?"

"I hate you," Veronica seethed, pouring her full breadth of her intense hatred into that glare and feeling accomplished when the Big B looked away first.

"But," she stressed, still looking at her notepad. "Just because I know the cause doesn't mean that everything is fixed. We're not going to stop meeting. And, it doesn't mean I'm going to clear you automatically. You haven't beaten me yet."

Veronica thought she'd so enjoy it if she were given the opportunity, though.

"I'm going to assign you some homework you can do at home."

Without waiting for what would have been a caustic remark in reply, the Big B continued, "I want you to write your feelings down. How you felt before, during, after. About your day. About any _thing, _person, or object. Everything. Just get it out. Put all of your emotions down into words. And, I won't buy that you can't write because you don't feel anything. You do. Just living evokes an emotional response at some level. You can even write letters to people as well. I'd encourage it since it'd give you focus. And, I don't need you to show them to me or anyone, or send the letters even, but you need to be able to give your emotions some sort of outlet. Deal with them rather than pretend they don't exist."

Veronica didn't answer.

"Okay?"

She hadn't moved and was still staring her down.

Unnerved, the Big B called the session to an early end, but not before stating, "Alright… Well then, I'll know whether or not you've been making progress whether you talk to me or not."

.

She was completely ready to ignore the inane homework assignment, but her father, whom she told since he knew she was going to the sessions, suggested that she just try. He played the concerned parent card, and it worked.

"I worry about you, you know."

"I know. I worry about you, too."

"I'm serious, Veronica," he said sincerely. "It's okay to cry, honey. We all cry at one point or another. Some more than others, but it doesn't mean you're weak. It just means you're human. What happened to you…," he started to get choked up. She wasn't the only one affected, and sometimes she forgot that. "What you've been through, and I don't mean just recently… you deserve a break from being just 'okay' is all I'm saying."

She nodded, considering his words. "Thanks, dad." She was tempted to walk away, but instead, she told him, "I'll try."

.

They were short at first, mostly of the "I hate the Big B" variety. She trashed those, and hated to admit it, but she actually felt a little better. She grinned evilly at the doodles she drew of the Big B with devil horns and such, chuckling to herself when it was a particularly well done rendition.

Then, sitting alone in her own apartment while everyone she could bear to talk to were at work, she'd feel a sharp jab of pain, reminding her of everything she lost. And, she'd write that she hated herself. Those, she shredded so no one else saw.

On the small whiteboard she hung in her kitchen, she began writing general statements about her mood that day. Mostly, she wrote and rewrote, _I'm tired_, regardless of whether or not she wrote the same thing the day before.

Sometimes, on more scraps of paper, she'd declare her hate for a multitude of other people as well. The nurses, the doctors, people she knew who had healthy children, God, _him_. Everyone. She would blame them, regret it, then blame herself.

The longest letter she wrote, she included reasons why she was angry, but when she reread them, she just felt sad. She sounded more hurt and betrayed—and other less flattering descriptions; she really shouldn't write these when she drinks—more than anything else, but she kept it, along with the others she wrote. She felt like she had something akin to a duty to keep them, parts of herself that were truer than anything she's _said_ in a long time. She kept those in a few of the bottles she drank late at night when it was just her with her thoughts and nothing to keep her from remembering that it was just her with her thoughts.

.

Excerpt from Letter no. 4

_Hey Dad,_

_It's your fault I'm doing this, so it's only fitting that I write my first letter to you. So, they told me that guy needed stitches, and I was pretty happy about that. He was scum anyway. I think he reminded me a little bit of Woody. _

_I met Gia once, after everything, she said she was in therapy to deal with everything, but she's happy now. I don't believe it. This is stupid, right? _

.

Except from Letter no. 5

_I need more vodka, tequila, rum, whiskey, blah, blah, blah. You know more alcohol stuff than I do because you got a head start. My mother probably knows more than all of us though._

_I ran out of beer today. It was nasty, but it's better than what I'm drinking now. It's fireball whiskey. It's cinnamon and _nasty_. You'd hate it and tell me to drink the good stuff if I wanted to get drunk. You can't stop me though cause you're not here. I don't even know where you are. I don't want to know. Asshole. Coward._

_I'm getting off track. I think. I'm supposed to write about how much I hate you. So, maybe I wasn't. _

_You'd probably drink it all anyway and leave nothing for me. Selfish asshole. You were right, I never needed you. I don't need anyone. Veronica Mars is smarter than everyone. That dead guy said so. I miss him sometimes. He wasn't that much of a dick. Not like you. Wait, you were finally right about something, and it's in writing. We should get together to celebrate. Not that I want to see you. I hate _you_. I think I need more alcohol. I spilled a lot when I was writing this. Bring some when you come back, okay? The good stuff. Not this crap. You always come back. How much longer are you going to make me wait? I hate you. Your stuff sucks._

.

A/N: The letter excerpts I have at the end of the chapters are written in no particular order and do not encompass the entirety of what Veronica's written, and of course, they don't necessarily follow the time frame of the chapter they're included with. Hope you enjoyed the drunk Veronica rambles, I debated whether or not I should write it with more errors and such, but I decided against it. You guys deal with my other typos already. You don't need that haha.

I believe next chapter is a Logan chapter, so, uh, prepare for that.

Also, it does get better, trust me.

Fun fact: I played D&D for most of today instead of writing this. So now I'm up at 3am again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

A/N: Updated 07/23/14

Chapter 5

.

Sometimes, Logan received upwards of two bottles a week from the local children. Other times, nothing.

It wasn't on purpose, them helping him. He hadn't even expected to find any more. But, it helped that they turned it into some sort of game after Sandy told them that Logan really liked the first bottle of letters she gave him.

After that tidbit of information, not only did he get more of the bottled letters, he also got a small collection of bottle caps, empty bottles, broken bottles, and a plethora of other miscellaneous finds that washed up along the shore. He didn't keep everything, but made sure to dispose of the ones he didn't keep secretly so that his little helpers wouldn't get their feelings hurt.

Though, instead of accepting everything with a smile, he sometimes wished he were a little firmer with what it was that he actually wanted the children to find if they were that determined to help him.

Once, Joshue, the four year old son of one of the village's fishermen, brought him a handful of colorful, unused condoms. He said he had caught them using a makeshift net and his father's method of catching crabs and the like. Quickly accepting the contraceptives and thanking Joshue, Logan sidestepped that potentially disastrous conversation about what they were by then distracting him with ice cream while he threw them away. Logan figured his parents could have fun with that particular talk, hopefully when he was far, far away.

Logan knew it was almost time for him to fly back to the other side of the world, but he couldn't leave yet. He wanted to be there when the kids found new letters to read so he could immediately read through the latest update. In the end, Logan was so determined to not miss out of any of the letters that he postponed his trip to Vietnam, apologizing profusely to Dinh and promising to come as soon as he was certain the letters would stop showing up. Then, he spent some time explaining exactly what the bottles were.

Not surprisingly, Dinh told him to take all the time he needed, glad that Logan was doing something for himself. He told Logan he'd continue handling things, but he expected to see his friend eventually.

Logan ended up staying for another three months before he gave up. The last letter was found twenty days ago, and he couldn't put his life on hold any longer while he sat around waiting for more that might not come. Still, it took nineteen long days filled with disappointment for that thought to sink in.

Sitting on the plane to Vietnam, Logan spent the twenty some odd hours reading and rereading all of the letters, compiling them into a semi-coherent, somewhat chronological order as best he could until he felt like he could retell the story as his own. As if he could tell _Veronica Mars' _story as his own. Reading the letters, even thinking about the letters, he felt like he knew her. Maybe in a past life, he did know her. He chuckled to himself, thinking, maybe he had known her and just forgot because of the accident.

Though, he figured it next to impossible for him to know someone as incredible as her, and he laughed less genuinely. Veronica Mars. Mars, god of war. He wondered what kind of person she was. Did she do her name justice? He longed to find out what the person behind the letters actually was like.

In the airport terminal, while he paged through the letters again as he waited for his luggage, he had a jolt seeing Dinh and a few other familiar faces waiting to take him back to his rented room. He didn't let it show, though. Instead, he grinned at them, as if he had been expecting them all along and shuffled to greet everyone, adjusting to feeling of the foreign language settling on his tongue.

There was a party that night, to welcome him back, and he told them stories of what he'd done in the US; rather, what he'd done in Mexico as it were. After each story, he got the feeling that they didn't actually expect him to say much, and he remembered that they still had expectations of the helpful, but incredibly private person they once knew. He swallowed the vague feeling of anxiety, though, and settled back to the partying mood. They meant well.

The very next day, Dinh set him to work, updating him on what was happening, what they planned, and what needed to be done. He honestly wondered why he even needed him to come back when he had everything under control, but he suspected it was more personal than professional motivation. Dinh considered him a close friend, and Logan didn't have the heart to not return the sentiment. After all, if Dinh wasn't a close friend, then who was?

When he wasn't helping out on the construction sites, Logan spent his time in his room, contemplating the story that the letters gave life to. He spent so much time in his room that Dinh, as well as a few other friends who were there for reinforcement and to join in on the excitement, would drag him out to eat and socialize. It wasn't healthy, Dinh said, to sit and read in his room all day. Logan was just glad Dinh wasn't judging him for obsessing over the contents of the letters, which is what he was doing, to be sure. Though, he might not have phrased it that way.

By his count, he'd only recovered nine bottles in total, but sometimes, the bottles, like that first one given to him, held more than one letter. When that happened, he was usually in a good enough mood to humor the children and join in on all their games, spurning them to find more of the bottles, one of the many reasons why they were so eager to help him.

He toyed with the idea of writing a book centered around the letters when his mind wouldn't let him rest without finding out what happened before, in between, and after the writing of each letter until he actually went and did it. He titled it, "Girl in the Bottle," and framed the letters into a tragic love story—because there was no denying it was tragic—, trying to stay as true to the tone of the letters as possible. He had a final draft by the time he was scheduled to leave Vietnam again.

With Dinh's encouragement, though he might call it nagging, Logan decided to submit the story to various publishing houses across the US, though he did so under his pen name, Logan Stone, like he did with his other pieces. He so rarely ever introduced himself as 'Logan Echolls'—usually introducing himself as only 'Logan' and nothing more—that he didn't even give it a second thought when submitting it.

When he was met with rejection letter after rejection or just plain silence, he couldn't say he was surprised. He had been rejected plenty of times when he tried to get his other submissions published, and this was an entire book he wanted to publish, not just an article. It was naturally going to take more time. So, he held out for the one time his book would be accepted. That time came when the small publishing company, Dorrance House, decided to take a chance on him and his book.

From there, Logan worked with one of the publishing house's editors to polish the book as much as possible before sending it to print. By the end, the book had gone through enough editing to marginally satisfy the publishers but not so much that Logan felt that Veronica's story had been compromised.

As a small concession to the many Logan had had to make in order to get the story through the revision process, the people at Dorrance House allowed Logan to write a two page preface to add to the story. In it, Logan used to chance to declare that he'd like to meet the writer of the letters. And, though it might make it easier to find her, he created pseudonyms for all the people involved in the letters to give them all some privacy. In that way, should the writer choose to come forward, it'd be of her own volition and not because someone else outed her.

He also wrote that he wished her well no matter what she decided to do when she found out about the story and that he wanted to meet her. He was just glad to have known her through her letters and hoped she didn't mind that he wrote about her life.

The first ten thousand copies sold out in the major cities. Many were compelled to buy it after being hooked by the premise and its status as a true story. Then, the next ten thousand copies did the same. As did the next fifty thousand, and so on. The book had become a best seller within the first few weeks of its release, and Logan was floored by its success. He had feared he wouldn't do Veronica justice.

After getting past the success of the book, the public began to wonder about the identity of the 'girl' behind the letters, leading to something akin to a witch hunt. Though, the fickle public's curiosity didn't last long before something else caught their attention.

To advertise his book tour, Dorrance House had pressured Logan into making a public announcement to the press to increase publicity, saying that he'd make appearances across the country and a few other major cities overseas as well. That was when one astute reporter recognized Logan Stone was actually Logan Echolls, and the public quickly realized they should have focused on the author behind the book instead.

But, they weren't the only ones surprised. So, in a way, Logan, too, had his identity thrown in his face.

When Logan lost his memory, his first instinct wasn't to just look himself up on the internet, expecting to find what he needed to know all neatly documented. It just wasn't reasonable to expect that his personal information be found there, or any information at all. The thought didn't even cross his mind. That was how ridiculous it was. He thought he was a regular guy who got amnesia. Yes, he was rich, but so were plenty of other people. Why would the internet, or anyone else for the matter, know more about him than the people he talked to, though few as they were?

The question was unfortunately answered for everyone who was unfortunate enough not to know the first time around when the dirtier details started coming in picture format.

The reruns of the _Tinseltown Diaries_ proudly featured him and _his family, _one he assumed didn't exist or were simply estranged because no one had come to see him in all this time, at what he hoped was the height of their shame and dysfunction. So, after watching part of the TV special, he morosely understood why no one was there for him. He had been right. His family members were nonexistent in their deaths and estranged in that they actively didn't want anything to do with him, unless money was involved.

Old and newly remodeled TV movies brought up past scandals about the life he had no idea he led.

And, he was sick, sick to his stomach about every new detail that made itself known to him and those that didn't because he couldn't bear continuing to watch. Everything they're saying about him. What he did, what his family did. He was sick.

He briefly realized how fragile the life he'd constructed on top of his lost memories had been.

He didn't dare turn on his TV, afraid of finding out more about his past that he didn't want to know, and chucked the remote out the window. With his record, he probably hit someone, and his gut twisted, considering the ever increasing number of wrong he committed.

What kind of person staged bum fights? He wondered in silent shock. He answered himself, the kind who's been suspected of murder at least twice before he can even legally drink. Then again, he supposed, he was his father's son, an actual murderer. He tore apart his apartment looking for alcohol he could mercifully, legally consume, finding none. He could definitely relate to Veronica now. He needed alcohol. The good stuff.

Rather than risk being bombarded with questions and annoyingly bright flashes of light, Logan asked one of the building workers—Jeremy, who was fond of him—to get him entire bottles of whatever he could find in the closest shop because he desperately was in need of them immediately.

Jeremy didn't hesitate, not unsympathetic towards Logan's situation. He never particularly minded Logan's past—he much preferred to judge Logan based on how well Logan treated him—and thought Logan didn't either until the frenzied media had the opportunity to bring it up again.

He returned with the alcohol he remembered Logan frequently bought for himself, discreetly carrying it up the elevators to his apartment, wishing Logan well. He needed it, judging by the number of paparazzi outside the building, waiting to pounce.

.

Logan quickly made friends with his newly acquired purchases, bidding them a warm farewell as they sacrificed themselves for his cause.

Halfway through drinking himself to what he hoped was oblivion, he heard a knock on the door. Actually, he wasn't too sure he hadn't imagined it until he heard the pounding and the yelling.

"It's me! Open up."

Wryly, he thought, because _that_ was going to get him to open up.

"Who is it?" He asked warily. He'd seen the people just outside his window and couldn't believe that one of them could make it through the doors without a better plan than simply asking to be let in.

"Who else would visit your sorry ass, man? Open the door!"

Logan pulled a face at the careless words. There went the little bit of self esteem he'd built back up with the help of his tiny friends. He'd have to get started on building it back up soon.

"Go away!" He yelled, bringing a bottle of something warm to his lips. He didn't know what he was drinking anymore, but it did wonderful things to his emotions, like making it seem like he had none.

"Can't!"

"Why not?!"

"I know what you're doing in there!"

"So? No one cares!"

"I care!" Dick yelled back. "Are you happy? I sound like a girl now. Would you just let me in?" He pounded on the door again.

Peering through the peephole, he saw a tall, blond man around his age. "Why would you care? I don't know you."

"How wasted are you? It's me, man. Dick! I'm getting tired of this! Just let me in."

Dick either thought Logan would put up more of a fight or he had been drinking from one of the paper-bagged bottles of something he was holding in his hands because he almost fell through the doorway when the door swung back. Perhaps both.

There was little Logan knew about his past life before the shit hit the fan, and he now had more information than he knew how to handle. However, that didn't mean that he forgot the initial little that he knew, the tidbits he clung to, hoping for more. One such tidbit was the name of the person on the box in his closet who was told specifically to stay out of it.

"Dick?"

"Yeah, man. About time, come on. I know you started without me."

Dick checked the bags and closed the door behind him, thrusting one wrapped bottle in Logan's direction.

"What's this?"

"Your best friend, Johnnie Walker. Remember?"

"Of course," he replied. Not one bit, he wanted to say.

Pulling away the paper bag and twisting the bottle open, Logan greeted Johnnie fondly anyway. One gulp, and he was inclined to believe Dick's words. Best friend indeed. He had a feeling Johnnie would treat him well for long enough.

"You're not here to stop me?"

Taking a swig from his own bottle, Dick wiped his mouth across his arm and replied, "Nope. But, not gonna let you drink alone either. It's not pathetic if you're drinking with someone else. You taught me that, and I thought I'd return the favor."

He didn't know Dick, not now. He couldn't even be too sure that this Dick was the person that the writing on the box referred to, but Dick brought him one of the sweetest gift he'd ever received… so far as he knew. So, he took another drink and he decided to welcome the type of comfort Dick offered. Maybe, if this one guy liked and cared about the old him, then maybe he wasn't such a huge shit stain on the underwear of life.

What else did he have?

.

Excerpt from Letter no. 6

(Not addressed to anyone)

_The Big B said I looked like I was making improvement. No thanks to her. I've been the one doing all the work. I flipped her off again. She can go fuck herself. I didn't say it out loud, though; chief told me I was being verbally abusive after she tattled on me. Again. _

_The Big B also told the chief I was cleared for duty. Yay. Then, she suggested I keep going to these sessions. Bitch._

_Can't decide if she's trying to be helpful or not. _

_Dad told me he happened to see her files—why didn't I think to accidentally do that?—and told me she wore neon spandex through most of the eighties to do some cheesy dancercise videos. He showed me one, and I hurt myself laughing._

_._

Excerpt from Letter no. 7

(Not addressed to anyone)

_Mac says I deserved better and I agreed. I didn't say anything else. I didn't feel like lying. _

_Sometimes, she compliments me too much, even that one time when I passed off store bought cake as mine. I think she feels really bad about what happened, but I don't know why. She said everyone feels terrible because they didn't do anything and couldn't help, but I'm the one who had to drive boxes of new baby stuff to a donation center yesterday._

.

A/N: Some background info; I was thinking about making Logan take longer to find Veronica's letters, like he'd been writing personal interest stories for a long time and became fairly well known for it. Then, he hears about these letters that wash up ashore and came just to see them because he wants to include them in his book, but there were some geographical and temporal issues for the rest of the timeline. Can't quite remember how I explained it to myself before when I was outlining this, but it's about 4am, and my brain is frozen. Hopefully you don't find it too unbelievable or at least tolerate the improbability of it all because he's not finding all of her letters, it actually takes something like half a year for the letters to arrive in Logan's area, and it's a concerted effort to actually find the letters.

Also, borrowed the bit about the 'shit stain blah blah blah' from Eminem, hope he doesn't mind. :P

Fairly certain I didn't respond to everyone who reviewed. I sincerely apologize, especially since everyone's been so nice, but I've been really tired and haven't had much time with the internet lately or my laptop. Also, I figured you guys would prefer me updating rather than replying, so this is my thank you to all of you. ^^

Fun fact: There was no new chapter when you woke up because I wanted to go to sleep. D&D is addicting and tiring and ridiculous. I highly recommend.

Edit: I lied. I lied. I lied. I'm tired. Here you go, enjoy. Probably wise to check back later in the day for corrections or further edits though. Or, to see if the chapter is still up because seriously, it's 4am, and I'm tired, but I really wanted to do this or else this will never get done because I'm running out of time.

/rambling. I'm out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

A/N: So, Chapter 5's been edited somewhat. It includes some important bits. You should probably go back and skim that, maybe? Sorry…

Chapter 6

.

"You're the girl in the bottle."

Mac looked at her too seriously for her to ignore it.

Instead, she asked, "Excuse me?" She lifted her head up completely from her kitchen counter where she was preparing snacks for their binge movie night. "I know we all thought I was turning into my mom for a little while there, but I got it under control now. Really." She joked to lighten the mood, "And, the name calling's a bit mean, not to mention a bit of a reach, don't you think?"

She further analyzed the girl standing across from her. Mac was all riled up. She was also supposed to have brought the movies. Veronica frowned. Judging by the lone book in her hands, she concluded that movie night wasn't going to happen for them that night.

"This girl. The letters. You. Ugh! Just read it," she commanded, waving the book around wildly before pushing the book towards Veronica so she could take it. "Won't even take long," she said. She crossed her arms as if to wait for Veronica to finish the book then and there.

Veronica stared at the cover, dissecting it. "_Girl in the Bottle_? Okay… I don't really read romance novels, Mac. I get enough drama as it is," she said, muttering the last sentence flatly under her breath.

"It's not a romance novel," Mac insisted. "It's a true story. Or, it was based on a true story. _Your_ story."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Read it," she repeated. "I'm just so furious!"

"Alright. Calm down, Q. Go sit your ass down on my couch, and I'll bring some cookies or something for you. You'll feel better after that."

"But you'll read it?"

"I'll read it," she said soothingly, wondering what was going on.

Her level nature lasted for only so long before she encountered the first letter. She gripped the book hard, forcing Mac to practically tear it out of her hands.

"Right?! It's you! It's so you. And look at that!" She jabbed her finger at the author's name on the once pristine cover.

Jaw dropping further, Veronica read aloud, "Logan _Stone_? That idiot! I can't believe. I—I just. I can't even believe him! How did he—?" She inhaled and exhaled deeply before suggesting, "We don't know that it's him. It could just be a coincidence. One big, fucking coincidence." Rational thoughts, Veronica. Easy, girl.

Mac angrily grabbed a cookie and munched on it, huffing. "I can't talk to you right now. You won't listen to reason."

"_I'm _not being reasonable?" She asked, sounding a bit off kilter even to her own ears. "What you're suggesting is that Logan _Echolls_ is stupid enough to use a pen name that he knows I know about to write a story about my life when I'm sure he knows how I'd react. And, that he's _sadistic_ enough to keep tabs on me when it's been nothing but radio silence from him _when he knows how I'd react_!" She ended her rant louder than she intended, but she could barely stop herself from throwing things against the wall from the sheer incredulity of her life.

Gritting her teeth, Mac told her darkly, "It's everywhere. Everyone knows that Logan Stone is Logan Echolls. That's why all those shows about him have been popping up again. It's not because it's the tenth anniversary of Aaron's death or whatever shit they were spewing. It's because of _him_ and what he wrote about _you_."

"That asshole," she hissed, knowing Mac wouldn't lie to her about this.

"There's more," she revealed.

With a scoff, she laughed mirthlessly, "More? What _more_ could there be?"

She opened the book and thrust it into Veronica's hands again. "Read the preface."

It didn't take her long to skim through and get the gist of it. Mac was right. There was more. "That absolute asshole," she repeated more out of hurt than anything now, not that she'd admit it, tears on the very edge of her eyelashes. She swore they were angry tears, though. Anything else, she wouldn't let herself accept.

"He's using sympathy to sell his book. Pretending to care about you, wanting to see you, that he doesn't _know_ you. Who does that? As if he didn't have enough money and fame! If he wanted to see you, he'd fucking see you!" Mac yelled, angry on behalf of Veronica's sake, much like she grieved on behalf of Veronica as well. "He should have come to see you!"

While Mac vented, Veronica was wrapped up in the details, as she was wont to do when the big picture was something she didn't particularly like to deal with. Where did Logan get her letters? Veronica doubted he got them all since she'd kept a few, but just that one was enough to make her wonder where he's been. Hiding? Lurking in the corners? Just waiting for her to do something that he could use for his own selfish, sick purposes?

Her teeth clenched, and her heart did the same. The tenderness she still reserved for him, weathered but stubbornly lingering, twisted into an ugly hate and disgust. And, she cried out in pain and confusion. How could he do this to her?

She jutted her chin out in defiance when she licked her lips to ease her dry mouth, tasting the saltiness.

Veronica suddenly sat up, startling Mac, who watched her carefully.

She walked purposefully to her room, staring straight ahead of her. When she finally came out, she had a crinkled envelope in her hands. Mac continued watching in confusion as she left it outside for her mailman, wondering what she was doing.

Then, she snapped back to attention as Veronica came back inside and picked up the book from the couch. She carried the book over to the kitchen, taking out a large, metal bowl. She caught sight of herself in its reflection and nodded to herself, reaffirming her decision. Tearing apart the book, she let out little screams of frustration for the unfairness of it all. Finally, when she was satisfied with her work, she put the bowl in the sink and found matches in her bottom drawer.

Setting the pages aflame, Veronica resolved to lock away that part of her that hurt most.

.

Excerpt from Letter no. 8

(Not addressed to anyone)

_Today is Hunter's birthday!_

_I bought him a chocolate cake because I burned the one I tried to make. The girl working the cake shop gave me a candle to go with the cake, too. She was nice. She didn't say anything when I started tearing up. I think I've gotten soft, but I guess being a mom does that to you, right? _

_I took the cake home and put the candle in the middle. I lit it, made a wish, and blew it out myself, too. It was nice. I accidentally told Wallace what I wished for, though. He was all judgey. I'll try again next year anyway. Maybe it'll work then. _

.

Excerpt from Letter no. 9

_Dear friends and family,_

_Thank you for the lovely intervention, but I am not an alcoholic; I just have a lot of drinking to do. _

.

Excerpt from Letter no. 10

_Dear friends and family,_

_Thank you for taking it upon yourselves to empty my 'stash,' but as I told you, I am not an alcoholic. However, I now have a lot of recycling to do. Thanks for that. _

_Remember those keys you gave me for emergency purposes? It must be the alcohol talking, but I'm feeling a little irresponsible now._

_Of course, I'm kidding. Don't worry. It's not the alcohol. I haven't been drinking _that_ much in a long time; I just felt like being a bitch, I guess. _

_Thanks again._

_Much Love,  
Your helpless alcoholic_

.

A/N: So, they're getting closer and closer to contact. So close. You don't even know. They're even in the same 'present.' Which brings me to my next point. A lot of things are happening during this particular time in the story. Logan's past is revealed, Dick meets up with Logan, and Logan is just beginning to go on tour, so he's not in any of three homes he had (LA, Vietnam, Mexico). For Veronica, she just found out about the book (and everything else that happened in this chapter).

By this point, it's been about a year and a half since Logan's lost his memories. So, about a year and a half since Hunter (aka Baby LoVe) /coughs… yeah…. And, no, he hasn't gotten his memories back yet (technically, since he doesn't remember doing the things everyone says he does). I'm not sure he will… but, not all is lost. /coughs.

There was actually supposed to be another short 'Logan' chapter before this one, but it would've been wayy too short, so I thought I'd just bundle it with the next chapter (which will be centered on Logan) since it wasn't that important.

Fun fact: I read somewhere today that clear communication will save everyone from about three chapters of angst. And, I was just like, mmm… yeah, pretty much. /shrugs. ^^

Yup.


	7. Chapter 7

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

Chapter 7

.

He swore at the alarm blaring from Dick's phone, announcing that it was indeed morning. Seven am, to be exact.

After apologizing much too cheerfully and loudly for Logan's tastes, Dick claimed he had a meeting and promised to check up on him when he had the time again. Logan wasn't paying attention much to what he was saying through the pounding in his head but nodded anyway. Why didn't Dick look nearly as bad as he did? He was sure Dick drank a lot more.

Not wanting to risk being seen by anyone, Logan had Jeremy secure a cab for Dick. When he went back up to his apartment, he briefly surveyed the area through bleary eyes. He was minus a lot of bottles of liquor, and he was sure he was also minus a lot more brain cells than the day before.

Logan pressed his palms against eyes to stop the room from spinning. He somehow navigated his way back to his bed and collapsed in a sad heap of limbs.

Slowly, he found to energy to stick his hand into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper Dick had forced into his hand before he left. Without looking up, Logan dropped it on his nightstand and went back to sleep, but not before wondering what meeting a guy like Dick could possibly have this early in the morning.

.

Almost immediately after Logan met—remet?—Dick, he was subjected to going out on the road to fulfill his contractual obligations and publicize his book, something he didn't exactly enjoy given the people who likely wanted to follow him and pester him about his past. There was nothing he could do to deter them short of following in his father's more criminal footsteps. He pulled a face at the thought. Joking about it only made him feel worse.

A few days after the night in his hotel room, he got a call from Dick, following up on his promise to check up on him. It was a bit odd, though, the phone call. Not on in that the conversation was odd because it was fairly normal. However, he hadn't really expected Dick to stay true to his word. It was enough for him to want to reciprocate the effort.

By August, Logan finished up his last few legs of his tour and flew back to Mexico—skipping the US and their celebrity obsession—for a much needed break from being 'past Logan' before planning to head back to Vietnam to continue his volunteer work.

During the tour, he had talked to Dinh a few times, just to see how he was doing and how the organization was doing before Logan could talk to him physically. Dinh, of course, wanted to know if anyone had come forward as the writer of the letters, but Logan had nothing, even with the book tour. That wasn't completely true, though. There were imposters, plenty of imposters, who claimed they were the writer, but never could tell him the correct name, resulting in a waste of Logan's time and an inordinate amount of hope lost.

However, Logan was pleased to learn that they had instilled teachers into the first site he had ever remembered working on. Dinh was still handling things quite well, so he didn't feel the need to assume his previous position as whatever it was he did. However, he did regret not focusing his time to solicit more donations for the organization. The last few times he was in the US, he didn't do much more than manage the donations that were already coming in, transferring them to wherever they needed to go and sending out thank you letters and gifts.

In his apartment in Mexico, he found a stack of letters addressed to him, most forwarded from his US address. Thinking they were the usual letters involving donation and other bits of paperwork, Logan decided to deal with it after a nice dip in the ocean.

He ended up not getting around to opening up his growing pile of mail until two days after he unpacked and settled back into the village. The children told him there were no more letters, but seeing his own disappointment mirrored in their faces, he pushed his own feelings aside and cheered them up with a hard fought game of hide and seek—their choice—, in which he lost. Repeatedly.

After what seemed like the tenth letter of confirmation to donate to Hand in Hand, Logan came upon a less than pristine letter, corners bent and creased. Relative to the other long travelled letters, it still looked battered and badly handled.

Then, in his examination of the letter, his eyes came across the sender.

_Veronica Mars_.

He was lucky not to have fallen off his seat in shock.

Carefully, very carefully, Logan unsealed the envelope and removed the letter inside. Placing the envelope on the table next to him and shoving off the other now entirely unimportant letters from his lap, Logan sat up in his seat and quickly scanned what would be the first new words he'd read from his Veronica Mars in too long a time.

He then read it more carefully a second time, perhaps hoping the words would change.

The third time, Logan was almost defiant in his comprehension and confusion.

By the eleventh reading, he calmed down enough to properly digest the contents of the letter Veronica Mars—the Veronica Mars he thought he intimately knew from her letters, the Veronica Mars he'd waited for so long to hear from whether they be addressed to him or not, et cetera, et cetera, _that_ Veronica Mars—had apparently deigned to send him.

He somewhat understood the initial scorn. After seeing what should have been his private affairs screamed from just about every form of media, he couldn't blame her for her hateful words towards him. The latter paragraphs, he didn't quite fully grasp.

There was an apparent familiarity with which she regarded him. She addressed him as if she knew him personally. Never mind how she even got a hold of his private address. She wrote to him like she knew him.

She knew him. She had to have known him. Screw the odds. She knew him.

And, he knew her. Once upon a time, he'd known her.

Though, judging from how she felt about him now, she never wanted to see him again. And, it very well could be that he'd never know her again.

With one palm pressed across his eyes, Logan called up the one person he hoped would give him more information about his relationship with Veronica.

At the worst, he really did know Veronica. Or was that the best? Though she now hated him, he could use their past to his advantage. He _would_ use their past to his advantage. He'd come clean to her, and she'd forgive him because of their past. Unless, she always hated him, and his book was just the final nail to the coffin.

No, no, he repeated to himself, pulling out his cell phone and calling Dick. He had become more than adept at gauging her emotion from her past letters. This letter was no different. Or, rather, it was different in the fact that the emotions leapt off the page even more than the previous ones. She was angry, yes, but she was also hurt, thinking perhaps that he had betrayed her, which was certainly not the case. He'd tell her that, and she'd forgive him. He desperately wanted her to forgive him.

"Logan? Yo, Logan. You called me, man! Hello?"

He snapped out of his melancholic stupor. "Dick?"

"Yeah, what's up? You okay?"

"This might sound weird, but I figured you might know. Do you know a Veronica Mars or remember me ever mentioning a Veronica Mars? It's important."

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"No, why?"

"Good, cause it wasn't funny."

Logan's lips formed a thin line. "It's really important, Dick. Do you remember her or not?"

Logan heard some laughing before Dick responded, "Uh, sure. I've got time. I can play along. Yes, I know Veronica Mars, and I vaguely remember you mentioning her once or twice. Why? What's she done now? You two break up again?"

His heart jumped into his throat, and he almost choked on it. He miraculously managed to say, "I dated her?"

"Alright, man. This is ridiculous. What's going on? Of course you dated her."

"When? How long?"

Dick sighed, not knowing where he was getting at with this, "I don't know. Since we were in high school? Did you forget your anniversary? Were you guys even together long enough for that?"

Logan bit his nail in apprehension. The pieces he had still created a disjointed jigsaw puzzle. This was not going to end well at all. Hell, it already didn't end well. He still held Veronica's letter in his hand, and the places where he handled it too roughly were creased and crumpled. "I was with her in high school? What happened?"

"Is this another way of getting me to talk with you about her? Cause, I told you last time. I am not down."

"Dick, just tell me!"

"No, man, you tell me. What's going on? Is she screwing with your head again?"

"Please, Dick."

"You are so whipped."

Biting the bullet, Logan confessed, "I have amnesia."

There were no sounds coming from his phone, but he knew Dick was still there.

Finally, he said, "Ha ha, man. Worst prank you've pulled since plastic wrapping my toilet bowl. At least the other guys got a few chuckles out of that one."

"I'm serious," he insisted. "I was in Vietnam, helping out with this volunteer group. A beam fell and hit me on the head, and I woke up in the hospital without my memories."

"How long ago?"

"Over a year ago."

Dick swore, "Fuck, dude. What the fuck."

Amnesia would explain why Dick always felt something was off during their talks, but he never would have jumped to that conclusion. Then again, Logan not mentioning Veronica once in the time they'd talked should've tipped him off that something was wrong. Dick just figured that Logan had finally understood that Dick did not want to ever talk to him about Veronica. Ever. Unless he was telling him that they finally got their shit together.

It might have been the sincerity in his voice, or just the anguish that compelled him, but Dick decided to believe him. "You don't remember _anything_?"

"Just the basic things, like math and things like that. I just don't remember anyone."

"Fuck," he repeated. "I was so busy with—Jesus."

Logan took that as an apology and told him, "It's okay. I'm alright. Not a lot of people know, though."

"Who knows?"

"The people who saw the accident… and now you."

"Shit."

"So, I really need your help now. I don't know if you know, but I wrote a book—"

"Yeah, I know," Dick snorted. "All over the news. Not that I watch the entertainment news… much. The girls I date just go on and on about it," he explained. "Kinda how I knew to go to you. Figured you needed help after your cover was blown."

Logan frowned at that. Was his alcohol abuse that common? "So you know that it was based on real letters that I found then?"

"Yeah, I heard—," Dick clammed up instantly.

"What? What, Dick?" He asked urgently.

"Uhh, look. I kinda thought you knew what you were doing when you wrote that book, but obviously you don't...," he trailed off. "Maybe you should just forget all this?" He suggested. "Wouldn't be the first time, right?" He tried to joke.

"What don't you want to tell me, Dick?"

"So much, man. Fuck. You don't—this isn't—_fuck_. This is so messed up."

"Tell me," Logan begged.

"You really don't want to know."

"Why not? I was involved with Veronica in high school. So what? What could be worse than that? What? Did I cheat on her?"

Dick let out a low whistle and an uncomfortable chuckle.

"I cheated on her?"

"Uh, you didn't really go into detail any of the times it happened, but yeah."

"There was more than one time?" He asked, distressed.

"Motherfu—yeah. Let's just… yeah."

"What else?"

"What do you mean what else?" He asked nervously.

"There's more isn't there?"

"No?…"

"Say it already!"

"Look, man. What do you want from me? Why do you want to know so badly? You forgot everything about her. It was a fucking amazingly stupid coincidence that you found the letters she wrote. But that's it. A coincidence. Get over it and get on with your life."

"How do you know I found her letters?"

Dick paused to think and stuttered, "You told me?"

"Fuck you."

"I figured it out myself. Why else would you mention the book and her?"

"Would've been more believable if you said that the first time."

"Shit. You don't let anything go, do you?"

"Not this," he said. "You still talk to her, don't you?"

"Not really… she's more like a friend of a friend."

Logan considered that bit of information and continued, "What else can you tell me about us then? You knew us back then, and you know us now, so you have to know a lot. What happened to us? Did we just stop talking because I cheated on her?"

"Not really," Dick admitted.

"She forgave me for cheating on her?"

"Not really…," he repeated.

"Get to the point, Dick."

"Seriously," Dick said, exasperated. "Why do you care now? You forgot her already. Keep her forgotten. It's better that way for the both of you"

"But, it's not," Logan whispered, voice hoarse.

"Why the fuck not?"

He hesitantly but honestly declared, "I think I love her."

He didn't expect Dick to laugh.

"Of course you do. You don't even know her. Not now."

"I feel like I do, though. Her _letters_. I keep reading them. And, it just… I can't explain it. I want to find her. I _need _to find her."

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to his friend. "Do you really want to know about you two?"

"_Yes_."

"No matter how bad?"

"Yes, Dick."

"Alright. Fine. You just remember that I didn't want you to know, and I thought this whole thing was a bad idea."

"Stop being a drama queen, Dick."

Dick let out another laugh. "Yeah. You're saying that now, but that's cause you don't know yet."

"Get on with it," he said impatiently, so close to finding out the truth.

"I'm going to tell you two very important things. Then, I'm done. First, did you ever find a box in your closet?"

"The one that says you, especially you, shouldn't open it?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

"That's Veronica."

"What?"

"In every single fucking one of those pictures. That's Veronica. _That_ is Veronica. Over ten years of pictures of you and her."

Logan felt floored but relieved at the revelation, letting his mind fill with the small fraction of pictures he'd found before he left overwhelmed. He mentally looked back on all the pictures he saw where the two of them were happy. Where she was happy. That had to have been a good sign. Then, he thought back to the dreams that felt like memories. They _were _memories, and he grinned like a fool. He forgot every other bad feeling. Coasting on the good ones coursing through him, he asked, "So we've been friends after our breakup? That's not so bad. I can still fix things. Where is she now? Why hasn't she tried to see me if we were friends?"

"Not done, buddy. I'm getting there. Might want to sit down for this one."

"Uh-huh. Right," Logan chuckled, rolling his eyes. He couldn't wait to get back and see her again and explain everything.

"Can't say I didn't warn you," he said, letting out a long sigh. Without much ado, he stated, "Your new book is about Veronica, right?"

"Yeah, you already know that though."

Bluntly yet cryptically, he revealed, "Well, it's about you, too, man. There, I said it. You think about that while I go get a drink. Yeah, in case you haven't figured it out yet. We do that a lot. Drink to forget our problems, I mean. You should probably grab the closest bottle of whatever if you can before you start thinking about what I said. I'm out, Logan. Talk to you later. Much later."

He didn't even register that Dick had hung up over ten minutes ago.

He had so many more questions, but they didn't seem significant at all compared to the few true answers he'd gotten from Dick.

His head dropped into his hands. He couldn't even fathom what 'happy' meant, not to mention how it might _feel _now despite his euphoria a few moments ago. He was too far from it. Too far removed.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but it wasn't until he saw the sun rise that he thought to pour himself that drink.

.

Excerpt from Letter no. 11

_To everyone who wants to set me up with a guy that's apparently just perfect for me,_

_He's not. He's just not. Thanks for trying; they actually seem really nice, but no. It's not time. Nope. Even if I was ready, nope._

(The following words are crossed out repeatedly, but '_Maybe'_ can be discerned)_. I can't. I just don't want anyone _(the word '_else'_ is repeatedly written and crossed out four times before it's crossed out a final time).

.

A/N: Dun dun duuuun. When everyone has great timing, it's a cliché and totally predictable and blah. Here, everyone's timing is sooo off (to me anyway), _so_ off, and it's still somewhat of a cliché. Just can't win. But, anyway, Veronica apparently believes the pen is mightier than the sword. And, Logan finally confides in someone that he's lost his memories. Yay? _Double_ and, he figures out who Veronica Mars is, and neither are happy. /coughs. You guys will probably enjoy the next chapter for reasons and because they finally get their timing down. What? No, I didn't just hint/not so subtly hint at something or other. Yays.

For those wondering why she doesn't just track Logan down in the first place to talk to him, it's because she doesn't want to. She's bitter, resentful, and just a little hurt (a lot hurt, a little scared). She just can't reach out to him again at this point to understand or to get closure or whatever. What about our Veronica tells us that she'd ever willingly reach out to anyone (other than Keith) in the first place? Nothing I can think of, at least. And then, when she does try—calling Logan while she was in the hospital—, she's met with what she thinks is rejection. And, coupled what she's just been through, that's a huge blow to her psyche.

Lastly, sorry for the lateness of this update! I've been really busy with real life problems, like finding a place to live, problems with my old place, and school registration stuff, which actually still haven't been resolved yet even though they kinda need to be done by the end of this month. Yeah…

Fun fact: Not sure if I've said this before, but I was debating between writing this story and another story. The other story involves Veronica and Keith as con artists, in which Keith is out of commission and Veronica is forced to go on a solo mission that leads her into the heart of Neptune during the aftermath of the mysterious death of a half-sister she's never met. _Or something like that_. I still might do this if I feel like writing a dark/angsty/suspense/mystery type fic. I have the emotional depth of a teaspoon, so… hard. D:


	8. Chapter 8

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

Chapter 8

.

Veronica focused intently while her partner voiced her opinions on the case they'd been assigned and told her what she thought they should do. This wasn't the first case that she had been given after her spectacularly abysmal debut, but people were still wary and treated her without much thought or respect.

Usually, she'd be annoyed enough to verbally set them straight—she was actually still tempted to—, but that meant they would have a period where the other girl would be too afraid to work together with her. And, during that time, Veronica would have far too much time alone with her thoughts.

The anger fueled resolve she'd initially had when she first found out about Logan's book had sizzled out, leaving her feeling cold.

In her letter, the one she actually intended for him to read, she told him she hated him and got nothing in return even after three months of not quite waiting. Still, were she waiting for a response, three months was more than enough time for him to come crawling back and groveling at her feet. It happened the other times, she told herself.

So what if she moved since writing that letter, told no one but her father, Wallace, and Mac, and left no forwarding address? It's not like she went into hiding. Not really.

If she had been trying to hide, Veronica Mars wouldn't even exist.

But, what she chose to do instead, in theory, anyone who wanted to find her could, assuming they wanted to. Which spoke more about what she really wanted than her words—written or otherwise—ever did.

.

Then, he had to go and do something stupid and ruin months upon months of her not quite waiting or quite hiding.

He showed up.

In a coffee shop, of all places. How anticlimactic. He was obviously out of practice.

Or, perhaps he hadn't expected to find her there, she thought, somewhat disappointed in the very real possibility.

Accident or not, when Veronica turned around and saw him standing near the register, there was a spark of recognition and then shock. All of which lasted for a grand total of one second before she dropped both her bagel and her pumpkin spice latte, the contents splashing messily against her legs and over her shoes. She paid no mind to the scalding pain on her ankles and ran, heart pounding and lungs gasping, running from the scene she just caused and from him.

Needless to say, she refused to go back to that coffee shop again no matter how delicious their seasonal themed drinks were.

Four days later, he popped up again at the local grocer's _and _her new coffee place. Either he lived nearby, or he was finally trying to find her. She wasn't sure which she wanted.

The day after that, she caught sight of the back of his head at the park during her morning jog, causing her to quicken her pace to a sprint in the opposite direction.

After a few more coincidental or not so coincidental almost meetings and a brief glance at his personal information, Veronica concluded that he was, for whatever reason, trying to find her, once again, for whatever reason. Otherwise, he was going quite far out of his way just to get a no frills cup of black coffee, his usual beverage of choice.

She quieted the excited buzzing in her mind that usually came around whenever Logan was involved and found the strength to focus on preparing herself for his next appearance because she'd be damned if he blindsided her again.

Smoothing out the skirt she hadn't chosen especially for the occasion, Veronica sipped at the pumpkin spice latte at the newest coffee shop she'd chosen. It wasn't as great as the other shop, but it was serviceable. And, in southern California, there were plenty to choose from.

Since this was a new shop she'd chosen, Veronica had no real reason to assume that Logan would find her other than _he always does_. So, she got her coffee a half hour earlier than her usual time and waited. He should be coming soon, she thought, looking at her watch and settling in with her book spread open on the table.

The door opened frequently all the way up to the time when she'd usually leave for work, and Veronica felt a gush of air hit her each time, cooling her drink. Her mouth fell slightly open before she caught herself that first time, the corners of her lips turned down from a mix of emotions she'd rather not admit to. She smoothed out her skirt again and went back to her coffee, trying to read the book she brought with her but not quite making out the words.

At five, she picked up her book and left the shop. She had missed work and a lunch date with Mac, ignoring calls and messages from everyone. That much wasn't new, though. About over a month ago, Veronica hadn't felt like returning too many calls, forcing them to come to her if they wanted to talk to her. Since then, she'd kept in contact with everyone only sporadically. Mac had only managed to finagle a hangout with her by means of threat and by piquing her curiosity, cryptically telling her she had something very important to tell Veronica that couldn't wait.

Apparently, whatever she had to tell her wasn't something she told her over the phone, or so she said. Veronica, of course, was naturally skeptical but still intrigued. She figured she'd have to rearrange for another hangout with Mac if she wanted to satisfy her curiosity.

She took the long way back, somehow passing by the first coffee shop she saw him at, wondering if she had imagined seeing him there.

Stopping in front of the coffee shop doors, she decided to go inside to get another pumpkin spice latte for her walk home. She figured if he wasn't there, then there was no reason not to enjoy her favorite drink from her favorite place while she wallowed.

The steam rose from her cup made from recyclable materials and mixed in with her heavy sighs. Though not nearly as cold as other places could be, it was chilly for a fair weathered Californian girl like her, and she was thankful she wore tights with her skirt. Still, she couldn't wait to get out of the confining nylon.

There was a man in front of her doorsteps, she realized, stopping just a few steps away. She watched him for a few seconds, wondering what he was doing there. He was facing the other way, holding his phone with one hand and a piece of paper with the other. Even without the wind, his voice carried, hitting her ears.

"Yeah, man, still waiting."

Veronica approached with caution; the excited buzzing returned, and her body hummed in response.

"Not until she shows up."

"Logan," she said, letting the seldom spoken word slip through her lips.

She watched as the man turn around, but she already knew who it was. It was more amazing that it took her that long to think of him.

He abruptly ended the call, closed the short distance between them and stopped just in front of her, inches away. Just for a moment. And, in that moment, she felt him take in her appearance, her being.

His lips met hers in a quick movement, and she swallowed the sharp words she so carefully prepared. He worked her mouth, and she let herself feel and press back, wrapping herself around him.

She led him inside as if it were her plan, fumbling to find her keys and open her front door. She saw a question in his eyes, and something else she didn't recognize, as they stood in front of her bed.

"I needed you," she whispered with a tremble, balling her hands and hitting his chest. She stared into his eyes and muttered, "I fucking needed you."

Not able to handle her intense searching, he looked away from her, opening his mouth to respond, to apologize, explain, argue or maybe none of the above. Veronica didn't find out because she cut him off with her own bruising kiss, trying to pour all of her emotions, frustration, depression, confusion, everything into him, into that kiss. She burned from the inside out, overwhelmed by his presence after so fucking long.

Pulling off his jacket, she turned him around and pushed him not so gently backwards, causing them both to fall back onto her bed.

She stopped then, and he caught her gaze. He wanted to say something, desperately, she knew, but she didn't want to hear it. Not right now. So, she shut him up again, sliding her mouth across his and pretending as if she wasn't the one who hesitated, who doubted. He eventually gave up trying to use her words, instead turning his efforts to slowing her pace.

It only made her redouble her efforts to establish control.

She couldn't handle the tenderness he tried to show her when he slowly slid her shirt up her chest. She caught his awed stare and shot him a look of contempt, tearing off her shirt and just about everything else, both hers and his, leaving them bare.

His eyes bore into her as she held herself above him and never once looked away, causing her to shiver, feeling impossibly more revealed in front of him.

A slow smile ghosted across her lips as she stared back at him, letting her eyes fall shut before she finally allowed them to join one another.

She felt fingers splay themselves across her hips to keep her balanced, to keep the heady rhythm. She lowered her hands to his chest and tightly fisted them. Eyes still shut, her back arched as he repeatedly hit a spot so deep within her, she cried out, surprising herself and him with its rawness.

Collapsing on top of him, she stayed there, making no other effort than to catch her breath. She fell asleep, blaming her inability to push him away on her tiredness.

.

Excerpt from Letter no. 12

(Not addressed to anyone)

_Couldn't breathe today. Stayed in bed and called in sick. _

.

A/N: Next chapter, the messy stuff. That's not to say that everything that came before this wasn't messy, but this is the first time they've seen each other in at least two years, I believe. There's bound to be a few hiccups to their reunion.

I really do apologize for the lack of updates, compared to how I was previously updating anyway. I've just been really busy helping my sister prepare for her wedding. I finally registered for classes and found a place to live, though, so that's nice, and a load off my mind. Kind of. No lease signed yet, so yeah… Anyway, just been stressed and tired. So, sorry for my lack of responses as well. I really do appreciate all of yours guys' support.

Fun fact: This story has undergone minimal editing, sometimes just no editing. Je ne regrette rien.


	9. Chapter 9

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

Chapter 9

.

He settled into the warmth that her small body provided. She was fast asleep as far as he could tell, her chest rising and falling against him in a steady pattern.

Her face now was relaxed, but the broken smile that appeared for one aching moment when she looked down from above him was forever imprinted into his brain, his mind already cluttered with thoughts of her and words she wouldn't let him voice. It wasn't until a few hours later that he was able to fall into a light sleep, coaxed by her presence.

Soon, his muddled mind woke up to an unfamiliar ringing. Spotting the glow from the corner of Veronica's room, peeking out from beneath the jacket she wore when he first laid eyes on her, he reluctantly tore himself from her arms to turn it off, hoping she hadn't been thoughtlessly woken up by it.

Logan quickly checked her phone, realizing it was just her alarm and disabled it, raising an eyebrow at all the missed call and unopened message notifications on her phone. He didn't pay them much mind, preferring instead to focus on returning to his petite blonde's bed.

She stirred as he sat on the bed and decided he might as well wake her up with a kiss, he thought excitedly. When she wrinkled her nose and sleepily batted him away, he figured he'd have to take more drastic measures. Putting his arm around her, he laid by her and gathered her closer to him, breath hitching as she snuggled closer to him. The weight of the situation hit him then.

This was Veronica Mars. A girl he once knew, and a girl he knew through letters and bits and pieces his mind tried to tell him, not sure if they were fact or fiction. And, he still managed to fall in love with her.

All the soul crushing thoughts that crossed his mind and wracked his body didn't seem to matter as much now that he had her in his arms because there was one thing he was sure of at least. With her, he felt complete, even with a large portion of his memories—practically still all of them as far as he knew—missing. Still, there was a lot to explain and make up for. And, he'd spend his entire life making it up to her if she'd let him. Hell, even if she didn't.

He kissed along her jaw line, whispering sweet nothings and apologies into her ear, his breath tickling her. He smiled and watched as she opened her eyes sleepily.

She seemed to smile in response before it suddenly dropped into a look of disgust and of anger.

He let out an oomf! when she punched his chest, hard. Rubbing his abused flesh, he looked back to her for an explanation but she had already jumped out of bed, dragging the covers with her.

She went around her room, grabbing his clothes and throwing them at him. She took one glance at his keys, forehead wrinkling in confusion. She recognized a braided necklace tied to his keys—hers from so long ago. She had told him to get rid of it repeatedly because it embarrassed her, as most things from someone's teenage years would. Every time, he refused, though, claiming that it reminded him of her 'hot, angsty teenager days' where she'd regularly 'kick ass.' She didn't understand him at all.

Regardless, she relished throwing something hard at him with as much force as she could muster. "You bastard!" She finally yelled with pursed lips when she threw it. "You complete bastard. I can't believe you," she huffed.

Logan was hit in the chest by his keys and hastily pulled on his boxers, daring to approach her unarmed. "Veronica, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's _wrong_? Are you fucking kidding me? You're what's wrong, asshole," she exclaimed, pointing at him accusatorily. "Who do you think you are to act like you still care? Who do you think you are to show up after all this time? Inconsiderate asshole," she swore at him, eyes half closed in distress.

"I care, Veronica. I care! Honestly, I do," he said, tripping over his words. He didn't know how to handle her when she was angry, or in any instance, and it reminded him, no matter how much he knew he loved her, he really didn't know Veronica Mars at all, and he wondered if he ever truly did.

She stared him down anyway, and he squirmed but didn't back down. She held the covers tightly against her chest. Speaking low and clear, she cut to the chase, asking what she'd want to know for so long, answer long overdue. "Then, where were you?"

He averted his gaze then, finally, and she felt a sliver of bitter triumph from that simple action. She didn't know was she was expecting, perhaps him to tell her something that would solve all of her woes and make the past couple of years just not matter anymore. He had always been so good with his words, though neither of them were very good at communicating.

"Get out," she demanded, crossing her arms over the sheet and against her chest.

Panicking, he yelled more loudly than necessary considering how close he was to her, "No, wait, I can explain!"

She gave him a cruel smile, one that she hoped hurt him as much as he hurt her. Judging by the pained expression on his face, it was a start. To add salt to his wounds, she retorted, "What could you possibly say to explain, Logan? What is it? Got too drunk to remember to call me back? That I existed? What?" She poked him hard in his chest where she punched him before, hoping it bruised there.

"Or did you find another girl to fuck?" She asked, punctuating each word with a poke and hoping the false smile stayed on her face. He deserved no other emotions from her.

Finally fed up, he grabbed her hand in frustration at his own lack of progress and held it to him.

She angrily tried pulling it back, but he wouldn't budge. Using the other hand, she tried to hit him until he let her go, but he grabbed that too.

"I had amnesia," he blurted.

She was stunned into silence, blinking herself into comprehension before a look of disbelief crossed her face. She fisted her hands and scoffed, "How convenient."

He let her hands go to gently turn her face towards him. "It's true," he insisted.

Veronica felt uncomfortable being so close to him, no, not uncomfortable. She felt unsure of herself. He always made her feel so unsure in a way no one else could. But then, she recalled, he always did his best to erase those feelings, too. It just hadn't worked out as well as either of them hoped in many instances. "And you just happened to know everything? Including my letters?"

"Someone found a bottle with your letters on a beach and gave them to me," he explained with a sincerity she didn't know he possessed. He saw the anger fade somewhat from her visage. Inching further, he added, "Then, they started finding more. I never knew it was you, though, not really. I never knew who Veronica Mars was until Dick told me parts of it, and I connected the dots."

She rolled her eyes, hating herself for not being able to scream at him like she deserved.

Slowly, he admitted, feeling like it was the right thing to do, "I still fell in love with you. Again. Even when I didn't think I'd meet you or didn't know who you were to me before."

"How did it happen?"

"How did I fall in love with you? Or—"

She cut him off, not wanting to hear more words that would make her want to just fall back into him from exhaustion and for comfort, "Hypothetically, say I believed you, how did you manage to get amnesia?"

She got her explanation and then some, and he was incredibly relieved she was willing to listen, believing she was a saint for doing so after being shown a glimpse of what she was feeling towards him at the moment. He relayed everything to her. He poured himself out to her. The accident, what he found, the box, his travels before finding her letters and after, the connection he felt to them.

"I didn't know you were still doing that," she told him finally. "The volunteering, I mean," she clarified at his confusion. "You told me you were doing something with some organization, but you never really explained much about it. You certainly didn't mention doing it overseas either."

"Really? The people over there said I spent about half a year every year over there."

Veronica was shocked, even if she didn't show it. Almost regretfully, she remarked, "We never really talked much about what you did when you weren't around…"

"We must have had better things to talk about when I was around, then," he offered.

She let out a sharp laugh and smiled mischievously without meaning to. "You could say that."

He cocked his head arrogantly in way that made her wonder if he really did forget everything. "Is that so?"

"We're not there, yet, Logan," she said, shaking her head at him.

"Do you love me?" He asked suddenly, needing to know.

He caught her off guard, and it was like watching a deer in headlights.

"Did you ever?"

She clutched the thin sheet in her hands, using it as a shield.

"You must have at some point, right? The letters—"

She exhaled, and in a rare moment of honesty she felt he needed, she answered, "Yes." It was a sign of how much they had grown over the years, her being able to be honest with him and open about her feelings, though rare as they were. A smile spread across his face and his shoulders relaxed slightly before she continued, "But there's so much more you have to know."

"Do you still love me?"

"I think so—"

"I can work with that," he told her quickly and eagerly, jumping at the chance, slightly disappointed but understanding the circumstances.

"_But_," she stressed, frowning. "You don't know me anymore, and I don't know you. What I feel or felt for you doesn't mean much when we're different people. Even if you didn't lose your memories, it would've been two years since I've seen you, Logan. People change a lot."

He struggled with the truth in her words, but he knew that she was the love of his life and couldn't concede.

She seemed to sense his internal strife, and gave him some reprieve, asking him, "That key with the bow, do you know what it means?"

His eyebrows furrowed in thought. "No. I never found a lock to go with it."

"We'll get to that," she said. "But, I asked you if you knew what it meant, what it means, what it stands for."

"No," he said, increasingly puzzled. "What's it mean?"

She walked past him and picked up the keys from the bed where she had thrown it at him. Turning her head to look at him, she tossed him a smile as she held it up. "It was a promise, from you to me. I'll assume you have no idea what the bow is either?"

"What promise? And, no, I know it's a necklace, though, right? Is it yours?"

She grinned now. This was probably the only retribution she'd have for all the misunderstandings between them, divulging the answers at her own pace, knowing that he was on edge from not knowing. She was conflicted, really. She wanted to help him—wanted him back, always on some level—but the time she spent hating him and the ill feelings towards him weren't erased just because he finally came back and proved that it was just one huge, cosmic misunderstanding.

"Yeah, it's mine." She sat on the bed, and he moved to do the same. "From, oh, I'd say over ten years ago."

"And you were okay with that? You didn't file a restraining order on me?" Logan said, surprised at his own devotion that bordered on creepy if he didn't know better.

"My dad almost did, for completely different and varied reasons, but he's always been overprotective, even now."

"How many reasons did I give him?"

"Enough."

He didn't dwell on it, though, wanting to know something else first. "What was the promise?"

She ran her tongue over her lips before biting her bottom lip in a half smile, remembering fond memories. "This," she held up the key in front of him, "Is for a safety deposit box."

"Okay? But what was the promise?"

"You'll see soon enough," she said teasingly, enjoying the upper hand.

"When?"

"When we get dressed and after I call in sick. Some of us work… or we're expected to show up anyway."

"Where do you work?"

"The FBI."

Without thinking, he asked, "Why didn't you try to find me then? It couldn't have been hard. You would've had access to—"

"That'd be a violation of your privacy if I didn't have a lawful reason," she said, her previous good humor evaporating. "And, I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

"You hurt me by not being there. I know you didn't mean to, but… the fact is, you weren't. And, I don't know if you could tell from the letters, but it was kind of a big deal. I needed you, and you weren't…" She fell silent before saying, "I didn't handle it well." She looked up at him again, and cleared her throat. "Come on. Let's go."

He followed her lead, pulling on his clothes, wanting to reach out to her but not knowing if he had a right to.

.

They sat in a private room with a security camera watching the, no doubt in black and white, cheesily highlighting the seriousness of their moment alone.

Veronica had led him to the bank and the security deposit box—his box—and set the smaller box that had been hidden within it on the table for him, toying with his keys and avoiding his attempts to make eye contact.

With shaky hands he tried to disguise with quick movements, Logan took the small box into his hand. His mind was already jumping to at least twenty conclusions with every passing second; his blood rushed, heart pounding.

"Open it," she prompted him.

He obeyed, breath catching in his throat as his thoughts were realized in the gleam of the diamond that sat perfectly at the center of the silk folds.

"That's pretty much how I reacted, too."

"I asked—"

"Yep. But, not in so many words," she said, eyes crinkling at the corners. "About eleven years ago, I think. It was the first time we got back together after you beat up Gory—"

"Gory?"

"Not relevant unless you think you're being followed by the Russian mob."

"What?"

"You'll be fine. It was for a good reason."

"Which would be?"

"Defending me."

He nodded, "Yeah, you'd be worth that."

"Yeah, that's what you thought at the time anyway," she agreed, nodding along with him in amusement.

"It's what I still think," he told her earnestly.

She cleared her throat, continuing her story, "I told you no."

"Couldn't blame me for trying," he smiled thinly, flipping the box open and close again.

She glanced at him then, mouth twitching up into a smile. "No, I couldn't. That's why I tried telling you that we weren't ready for it yet since we were practically still _children_ no matter what we'd done up to that point. And, I told you to hold onto it until we were ready. Then, the next day, you took me to this place, took my necklace, and tied it onto that key, saying that it was proof of my promise to you." She laughed softly realizing her mistake. "So, I guess I was wrong about that. It was my promise to you, not the other way around. Old age, you know?"

"And then what? Dick told me we broke up a lot…"

She laughed harder at that, fidgeting in her seat and obviously uncomfortable. "Of course he would. I wouldn't say a lot, but more than two normal people would before they called it quits forever. So, a 'few' breakups later, I actually forgot about that key until I saw it this morning. But, before _that_, I was trying to move on, and I thought you were, too. Then… old habits, and we weren't broken up anymore, not really. And, the last time you saw me… the last time you saw me before forgetting everything," _forgetting me_ was what she wanted to say, "We spent a night together, and…"

"Hunter," he said before quickly realizing he shouldn't have, wanting to take it back.

She didn't cry, but her face said everything that he needed to know.

"Veronica, I… I'm so sorry."

"For what?" She asked flatly, no longer fidgeting or doing much of anything.

He didn't know if she meant it was because he didn't have anything to apologize for or because he had so many things to apologize for, she wanted to know specifically for what. And, it devastated him, knowing that the latter was the truth of the matter.

He wanted to tell her, _everything_, but that wouldn't ever be enough.

They left, leaving the ring where they found it, and he told her he wanted to see her again.

She nodded silently, burying her head into his neck for a long minute before she left him in front of her doorsteps and headed into her house alone.

He had a lot to think about on his way back. His first meeting with her had gone considerably different than he'd expected.

Still, he fought the urge to barge into her house and demand she fall back in love with him, so they could forget everything that happened and just focused on the two of them now. He was selfish that way, by even considering it an option. Without their past to link them, they'd just be two very different people whose paths would likely never cross, and his gut twisted at the thought.

.

A/N: Oh, the emotional roller that is LoVe. Anyway, now you all know what that bow/key is, so yay. And, you know more about their past, so double yay. I hope you found it sufficiently sweet after all that… sadness (and not anticlimactic, just tryin' to keep it real… not working very well though, oh well, sue me).

I'm just a puppet writing what I told myself to write. Don't know what I was thinking, but who am I to question myself?

Thank you, everyone, for the support. You guys really make me day.

Fun fact: I've gotten really into schweinski. If you know what that is, wink. No judgment, please.


	10. Chapter 10

**Love Letters from Yokosuka**

Chapter 10

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Wanting to give her room to breathe and time to process but also fighting a losing battle with her self control, Logan waited exactly seventy two hours before he knocked on Veronica's door. Then, he realized belatedly, she had a job. Friday or not, he didn't think she'd drop everything because he forgot. So, for the hours until she'd be back, he walked around her neighborhood. Eventually, he stumbled upon the coffeehouse where he first spotted her.

He felt his face redden at the thought of how she reacted when she turned around and saw him. It was the eighth coffee shops in eight days he staked out after Dick gave him a vague target location to start with while he worked on getting more information from his source, whoever that was. After a week of failures, he certainly didn't expect to see her. Hell, she was probably as surprised as he was if her dropped drink was any indication.

Definitely not something that he had expected the first time saw her. In fact, he relegated that abysmal not quite contact and all the following near misses—that he was now beginning to suspect were too coincidental and convenient for her if she hadn't wanted to see him like she said—into the category of 'didn't happen' for the sake of his pride.

He had to admit, though, the fleeting glimpses he caught of her before she slipped away only pushed him harder in his quest. They teased him, tantalized him, made him want more, much like the dreams he had of her, alluring but not quite solid. He still wasn't sure whether or not they were just dreams, but she was oh so real.

After waiting until five and adjusting for her commute, Logan waited an extra five minutes after that before he could no longer restrain himself. Rapping three times on her door, he waited yet again for her to answer.

When she finally did, his enthusiasm deflated into concern. She looked like she hadn't slept in the few days since she was last with him. Again, he resisted the urge to reach out to her, fearing her rejection.

"Hey," he said instead, hands in his pocket, not knowing what to do with them.

Still in her work clothes and exhausted, she arched her eyebrow at him as if to tell him that his visit better be worth it.

"Are you free tonight?"

There was a tense moment where he wasn't sure how she'd respond. Then, her face softened into a small smile just for him, and she mustered up enough energy to tease him. "Am I free tonight, he asks." She mocked him tiredly. "You used to be a lot smoother, Echolls, and you brought presents. Losing your touch," she tutted.

"Oh, but am I?" From behind his back, he handed her a cup of pumpkin spice latte from what used to be the shop she frequented most. He'd originally thought she'd need something to sweeten her up towards him, but hopefully, it'd have enough caffeine to reenergize her somewhat for the date he had planned.

She only had to wait for the aroma to hit her, and she immediately knew. With considerably brighter eyes, she thanked him and said, "I guess you're okay. And, I guess I _could_ be free but just for tonight."

"Just don't drop it this time," he teased.

She fell asleep by his side, exhausted, under the stars at Griffith's observatory in Los Angeles, where he'd taken her after dinner on the Santa Monica pier, an itinerary that Dick assured him was foolproof for something or other. Logan had tuned him out when he started making crude grunts over the phone and presumably gesturing in the same manner.

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As it turned out, Veronica was free for a number of nights after their 'first' 'date.' The most notable one so far was when Mac had rushed into Veronica's apartment, screaming that Logan had amnesia, to which Logan could only wave at the intruder before being introduced. It was an awkward affair for all, but they chuckled about it afterward, Veronica did anyway while Mac sheepishly apologized. He let it slide, just happy that she was happy and was willing to still spend time with him. He had a feeling that this 'Mac' was Dick's informant anyway if she knew what he'd only told Dick and Veronica.

Regardless, none of their dates ended in sex to no one's disappointment. They understood that theirs was a fragile thing, treading cautiously and not wanting to overstep any boundaries that the other might have. Logan, in particular, was wary of it.

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It was a weekend spent staying in when he dared broach the topic of her letters. They'd tried to be as honest with each other as possible. Veronica candidly told him of past memories—hers and his—,and he told Veronica of what he'd done since waking up an amnesiac.

Over hot chocolate and trying not to tiptoe around it, he bluntly asked, "How did your letters end up in the ocean?"

Veronica took a long drink from her mug, thinking about how to best answer him. She figured it was coming, so he didn't wait too long for a reply. "It made sense at the time. I'm going to assume you know why I was writing the letters."

Logan didn't have to even think to answer. He'd read her letters far too long to not know each word. "The Big B made you."

She snorted behind her mug at the nickname. "Uh, yeah."

"She told you to throw them in?"

"Not exactly…"

"Can you make this a little less like pulling teeth?"

"Quiet, you. I can either tell it right or I can tell you to shove it."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

"Couldn't help it. There was this gigantic ass taking up all my personal space."

"Ooh. Lucky you."

She wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue. Their humor almost made the next part easy to admit. "As I was saying… Yes, 'the Big B' made me. And, around that time, I was practically having a bottle with each letter. Eventually, it got to the point where they were everywhere. Then there was this whole intervention thing. Yelling. Fingers pointed. Typical friends and family type gathering. And, when they left, I just looked around and really saw everything…. after having another drink.

"A week later, I tore through my entire apartment, and I found a few of the letters stuck inside the bottles. I didn't really think anything about them at the time, I just wanted the bottles _gone_, so I left them inside, and drove to the nearest recycling center… and…"

"And?" Logan prompted, wanting to know how she went from the recycling center to the ocean.

She gave a short laugh, thinking back. "And it was closed. It was midnight," she explained, holding her hand to her forehead.

"Then what?"

"Then… I still wanted them gone. So I drove around and ended up on top of this bridge near Neptune—where we grew up—, and I just dumped the entire box over the edge…"

He wasn't sure what to say. His curiosity was satisfied, somewhat, still feeling like he was missing something. Instead of staying speechless, he settled on telling her, "I'm glad you did," because he really was.

She returned his smile and decided not to tell him that it was the Coronado Bridge or any other details that would make him not so glad she found herself there, teetering. That would be a story for another day.

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Then finally, she showed up to his apartment after weeks of free nights spent together, telling him that she was taking him out. This shocked him for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it was a Monday and Veronica should be at work. And, secondly, he was not a morning person and was not at all presentable, bedhead included.

"Are you busy? I want you to come with me somewhere."

Still, he was able to gather a sufficient quantity of brain cells so early in the morning to yawn, "Mm… kay. Wa'a'com'in?"

Wisely, Veronica took it as an invitation to come inside and wait while he got ready. It was the first time she'd been in his apartment. He always came over to her area if he wanted to see her, and she hadn't take any initiative save for this.

"I'll drive," she said when she heard him come up to her.

"It's okay. You had a long drive up here."

She shook her head, "You can drive us back, maybe. Depends."

"On what?"

She shrugged and offered the tiniest smile as consolation. "Come on, princess. Took you long enough to get ready."

"Not all of us look perfect after rolling out of bed, Miss Mars," he told her with a toothy grin. Hoping to make her smile, he took her hand and kissed it.

She replied by widening her smile by a fraction of an inch, and he accepted it, not knowing what to make of her mood and seemingly spontaneous actions.

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It was December, and there was a slight chill in the air. A light fog blanketed the area during their early morning drive and hadn't cleared. Veronica ended up driving them to a cemetery, and while Logan desperately wanted to ask why, he kept quiet, honoring the solemnity with which she held herself.

He looked to her side, but the sunglasses she donned upon getting out of the car obscured his vision.

Then, little by little, a thought formed in his mind, overtaking all others with a sinking sensation.

He paused, and she noticed him not following her. She must have realized that he knew where she was bringing him because she walked back to him and grabbed his hand tenderly, holding it to her chest, trying to give him strength.

Still holding his hand, she led him deeper into the misty grounds. He squeezed her hand, letting her know he was still there.

They stopped abruptly at a small burial marker embedded into the grass.

Two things happened very suddenly for Logan.

One, he felt his breath stolen from him, confronted with what he knew but never truly came to terms with. Standing in front of his child—_Hunter's_—grave, it was far more real than he could handle, and he remembered, Veronica was mostly alone for this.

And two, he realized Veronica was testing him. He was mad and indignant as well as at a regretful, adding to the oppressive push he felt on his chest.

He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and never let go, but Veronica was no longer holding onto him. Instead, she had bent down to clear some of the grass and debris that had dirtied the headstone.

Then, she started talking.

"Happy birthday, love."

At first, he thought she was talking to him since he was the only one there, but it became clear that she wasn't. Painfully so.

"Sorry I haven't been back to see you since last month. Things happened. You remember that deadbeat father I told you about before? Well, he's here and not a deadbeat, so far as I know. He wanted to be here with us, but things happened," she repeated. "It's complicated. But, he's here now. And, he's going to be with us for a long time. Right, Logan?"

Silently, Logan kneeled down with her and nodded, "Always."

Swiping his thumbs under her sunglasses where tears had collected and fallen, Logan kissed her forehead, wanting her to know every promise he secretly made to her and intended to keep.

On the drive home, Logan was driving while Veronica looked out the window, sunglasses still on her face, she told him, "I visited him every week. It used to be every day, but…"

He tightened the grip he had on her hand unintentionally.

"I couldn't take knowing that he wasn't coming back."

Hastily, he pulled over, not able to hold himself back. He unbuckled his seat belt and instinctively gathered her into his arms, pressing her into him in an uncomfortable angle but one that was needed all the same.

Shaking slightly, she mumbled unintelligibly into his neck.

They didn't start up again until Veronica insisted they get back. It was late, and she stayed the night, taking the comfort he freely gave her and would only give to her.

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The next morning, she left a letter in the drawer next to his bed before waking him up with a kiss. He responded by throwing his arm over her, engulfing her, but she didn't seem to mind, only settling into him deeper than he thought possible.

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She was home, and he was back.

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Complete transcription of Letter no. 13

_To Logan,_

_I'm going to make good on that promise one day. Wait for me._

_Love,  
Veronica Mars_

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A/N: Well, then. Just realized I ended on letter number 13… Interpret that last line (before the letter) however you want. I'd never say you were wrong, I'd just say there's at least one meaning I was hoping to convey with that haha. ^^

It's been quite a ride, faster than how long I usually take to complete something, but slower than I wanted. I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this. And, it could've definitely been dragged out longer with how they interacted with each other afterwards, but I felt it wasn't as necessary. All my stories seem to be like that, missing parts I hope you can infer or fill in yourself.

There's really nothing much more to say than that. ^^ I already have thoughts for another oneshot, so there's that. Also, for another multi-chaptered fic, so that, too (the story I briefly mentioned before in a previous note). Not sure if it's wise to start those during the school year, but I really don't want to study…

Wait, also, I've been seeing the name 'Hunter' around the vmars fandom, and I was, like, wait, what, is he real? ._. Then I did a little research (re: googling) and realized that _spoiler_ _alert!_ he's V's half brother. Whaa? So, yeah… did not read the book yet (I know, it's a travesty), so… yeah. My oops in picking names. Baby Hunter was not derived from brother Hunter, just an odd coincidence… out of all the names. I see you, Rob. I see you.

This is a brief timeline for this story:

2007/06: Veronica and Logan get back together after freshman year of college, and Logan gets her the ring.

2007-15: Veronica and Logan get back together and break up and get back together at various points throughout this period.

2015: Veronica finds out she's pregnant in mid-July, conceived in May. Veronica tells Mac in September.

2015/12: The baby is stillborn on December 4th 2015.

2015/12: Logan loses his memories and tries to adjust.

2016/02: Logan goes back to the US. Then goes to Mexico to travel.

2016/02: Veronica is transferred to San Diego. Veronica is sent to therapy after botching the case. Veronica starts writing the letters.

2016/04: Veronica is cleared for work again after making marginal improvement but is advised to continue her therapy, which she does once a week with the letters and meets up once a week with the therapist for six months.

2016/06: Veronica tosses the bottles over the Coronado Bridge but not herself.

2016/07: Veronica stops writing the letters, but continues with the therapy session.

2016/09: Logan finds the letters before he goes to Vietnam and postpones his trip.

2016/12: After weeks of not finding anymore, Logan goes to Vietnam and works on writing the book while he's there.

2017/04-05: Logan gets the book published. People find out who Logan is and the scandals of his past come back. He finds out about his past life, and before he goes on tour, Dick shows up to support him.

2017/05-08: Logan goes on tour to promote the book.

2017/05: Veronica finds out about the book and writes him the letter.

2017/06: Veronica goes into 'hiding.'

2017/08: Logan returns to Mexico and finds Veronica's letter. Logan asks Dick to explain. Logan finally knows who the mystery woman is and hates himself. He pulls it together and returns to the US to find Veronica.

2017/10: They meet in the coffee shop. Two weeks later, they sleep together. He finds out about the key.

2017/12: They visit their son's grave on his birthday, and they sleep together for the first time since their reunion. Veronica writes one last letter to Logan.

Fun fact: This (and sugar kingdom falling) was more of a reactionary story to the happy endings I wrote in my previous stories (i'm looking at you, king of mars). I seriously cannot handle large doses/scenes of sugary sweet endings/stories, and yet…. D: I'm easily compromised and secretly a sucker for those sort of things.

/and they all lived happily ever after.

/ /the end.


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